The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon
by Charlotte Sometimes
Summary: Fairy tale telling of the adventures of Boy George, Robert Smith (The Cure) and Marc Bolan. (+ later Bowie, Labyrinth and Rocky Horror Show - It's a bit of everything.) Please let me know if you like/dislike it. It's a bit slow at first, but bare with it.
1. Part 1

The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon Part One 

Chapter 1 — The little house and it's inhabitants

Once upon a time in a faraway land very different to our own and yet also very similar  there were three men, and their names were:

            Boy George

            Robert Smith

            Marc Bolan.

They all lived together in a little stone cottage in the middle of the Forest of Anshar, in the land of Rarn.

Anshar was not a beautiful forest, nor a pleasant one. It was dark and overgrown, and had a tendency to change unexpectedly just when you thought you knew where you were. The inhabitants of the villages which lay within the forest's outskirts distrusted it, and rarely ventured far into its depths. Young children were warned never to enter it alone, and never to wander too far from the paths. And most importantly of all, never to linger in the forest after sunset.

Since the three men lived far into the forest, and some way off the main track, the villagers tended to be somewhat suspicious of them. The forest was a place of evil and unknown things, and therefore anyone living there was probably either a witch or cursed they reasoned.

The house however, if any of the villagers had ventured far enough to see it, would not have upheld their ideas of evil and enchantment. It had a hatched roof and a wooden front door with a window on either side of it, the frames covered in slightly peeling paint in a cheerful green colour. A rather uneven fence surrounded a garden filled rather untidily with a jumbled variety of colourful flowers, and a selection of herbs grew at the back. There was no letterbox, since there wasn't a postal service this deep in the forest. 

During the day ragged patchwork curtains fluttered at the open windows and often the sound of singing would float into the forest. At night however the three men, like everyone else, bolted their doors and locked their shutters securely before the last rays of the sun had died away. The forest was a different place at night and it was best to lock it out, for everyone's sake.

The cottage was only intended to house one fairly poor peasant, and therefore there wasn't much space inside. There were in fact only three rooms. The front door opened directly into a living room, which took up the front left quarter of the house and held nothing but a fireplace and three seats - a comfortable rocking chair for George, who had arrived at the cottage first and so had first choice, a rickety stool for Robert, who had arrived second, and a cushion for Marc, who had arrived last. 

A door on the right of the living room led to the bedroom, which also took up a quarter of the house. This room could be divided into three with long, colourful patchwork curtains. In each section was a small bed with a rag rug at its side and a wooden chest at its foot. In these chests the three men kept all their belongings.

The back half of the house was a kitchen, in which was a large wooden dining table, several badly made cupboards and a larger fireplace for cooking at. A tin bath hung on a nail by the door. When in use it stood behind a painted screen by the fire.

The three friends shared all the housework to prevent arguments, which tended to start easily. They had divided the main jobs between the three of them as follows:

Boy George did all the cleaning, washing and tidying, since he liked things to be neat.

Robert Smith cooked the food, which he enjoyed, and also mended whatever got broken, since the other two disliked jobs that involved things like hammering and sawing, and were frankly terrible at them anyway.

Marc Bolan went to market each week, which was convenient for George, who was too lazy to go himself, and Robert, who hated going anywhere where he would meet people, and claimed to have an aversion to light (The other two had suggested that the only reason it hurt his eyes so much was that he would never go outside long enough to get used to it, but he refused to listen.)As well as this Marc also did any odd jobs neither of the other two could be bothered doing. This naturally left him with the worst jobs, but George said it was all he could expect, since he had arrived last and was lucky to be allowed to stay anyway.   

As well as this, each man was responsible for looking after a useful animal.

            Boy George kept a cow, for the milk.

            Robert Smith kept sheep, for the wool.

            Marc Bolan kept chickens, for the eggs.

The cow and sheep lived in a small wooden barn at the back of the house along with the donkey who pulled the cart to market every week, and the chickens were allowed to run free in the back garden. Robert had even built them a coop, although it wasn't exactly sturdy, or even, to be quite honest, symmetrical.

The three men were able to live comfortably by selling some of their animals' produce, such as milk and eggs, at the market in the nearest village each week, and their profits allowed them to purchase other necessities, such as lipstick and glitter. And so their lives continued without incident until the apparently minor events of one spring morning changed everything forever.

Chapter 2 — The end of the beginning

It was a Wednesday, which was market day. Therefore after breakfast Marc Bolan put on his travelling cloak and harnessed Charlotte Sometimes, the deaf old donkey, to the shabby cart. Then he set off, taking with him a churn of milk, three cheeses and a dozen eggs, to sell on his arrival. Robert thoughtfully provided him with a packed lunch of bread and cheese.

After he left, Boy George tied up his hair with a rag, put on his cleaning smock and swept all the floors and the front step. Then he sat down in his rocking chair and continued sewing a patchwork quilt he had been working on for several weeks, as scraps of cloth came to hand.

While George was doing this Robert Smith rolled up his sleeves and began to chop vegetables, since he was planning a vegetable stew for supper.

Marc arrived at the market rather late in the day, since Charlotte was quite slow. Nonetheless, he sold all his goods for a fairly good price and he had some change saved from last week's market. He headed next for the General Store, where he had placed some orders, and took out three shopping lists.

George's list:

1. Rainbow eye-shadow kit (30 different colours)

2. Weirdly printed cloth (ordered last week)

3. New hat 

4. Lots of colourful ribbons.

Robert's List:

Black eye-shadow (Economy tub)

Hairspray

Black cloth (large roll)

"The Complete Works of Albert Camus"  (Leather-bound)

Marc's list:

Multi pack of gliter

Pack of gliter stars

Roll of aranGe licra

pink fethers + string (for boa) 

The shopkeeper soon gathered together the items, and his assistant loaded them onto the cart. While he was waiting, Marc bought himself a book of " Illustrated Myths and Fairy Stories."  The shopkeeper wrapped it up neatly in brown paper for him. 

As he was tying the parcel up securely with string he said conversationally " You know sir, it's a shame your wife never comes to town. She must be beautifully dressed, what with all the things you buy her, it's a shame no one ever gets to see it." Marc looked up from the shelf he was browsing, frowning in confusion.

"I mean, she could at least come to Church on Sundays". The shopkeeper continued. Then he leaned forward conspiratorially "Just between you and me Sir, people are beginning to talk."

"Oh, I'm not married" Marc began "The things…"

            "Well, your friends' wives then." interrupted the shopkeeper dismissively, handing over the package and beginning to turn away. 

            "No, none of us are married" explained Marc, packing the book in the basket over his arm. The shopkeeper turned back, looking curious "Sisters then?" He asked

"No, actually…"

"Mothers?" said the shopkeeper hopefully, turning to the page marked "Living in Sin" in his "Official Book of Morals"© as published by the Church of Rarn™.

"No, you don't understand" said Marc "The clothes and make-up are for me and my two friends"

The shopkeeper's mouth dropped open and he made a noise like a drowning fish. But Marc had already clipped out in his shiny black tap shoes, leaving the shopkeeper searching anxiously in his now hopelessly inadequate Book of Morals.

Chapter 3 — The Morning After

Next day was bright and sunny, and the three friends were in (relatively) good moods. Robert added an extra spoonful of honey to everyone's breakfast porridge on top of the usual one, George made everyone's beds and put a rose on each pillow and Marc gave Charlotte the Donkey an especially tasty bran mash for breakfast, and sang as he collected that morning's eggs.

After finishing their porridge, and also an egg each (for the protein) they all considered what they would do that day.

"I think I'll go and collect some flowers."  said George "The cottage needs a bit more colour. And anyway, it's a shame to stay inside on such a lovely day."

"Yeah, you're right" agreed Marc "I'm gonna go sit in the forest with my guitar and see if I get inspired. What about you Robert?"

"It's much too bright for me outside" said Robert "I guess I'll stay here and cook dinner." He sighed in resignation and trailed sadly into the kitchen.

"I wonder if he's ever happy?" said George once Robert was out of hearing "He must have had really bad karma in his last life to deserve such depression." And he tied his hair up in a scarf, put on his woollen cloak, picked up a wicker basket and left.

Marc strapped on his guitar and followed George through the door, calling out goodbye to Robert as he left.

Later that day George picked his way through the forest towards a beautiful glade of forget-me-nots he had seen a few weeks earlier. It wasn't long before he arrived at the glade and began to gather bundles of the bright blue flowers. His basket was soon full, but he continued to pick the flowers, since every time he thought he had picked the best blooms of the clearing the flowers a few metres ahead of him seemed far more beautiful than those he was standing among.

Then, in the furthest corner of the clearing, deep in the shadow of the trees, he glimpsed a flash of orange. He approached it, wondering what kind of orange flower would grow in a field of forget-me-nots. 

Close up, the flower was far larger than the others in the clearing, and a shining golden-orange colour. With its strange colouring and exotic shape it looked out of place in the forest. In fact, in this country only George of the whole population could have told you it was a chrysanthemum. 

George began to feel uneasy. The foreign flower seemed an ill omen. He turned and hurried away, wiping a few tears from his cheeks before anyone saw them.

He was hurrying homewards along the forest path, lost in thought, when a rough voice came suddenly from behind him. "Hello little lady, what are you doing all on your own in the forest?"

"Who are you calling a little lady?" demanded George, turning round "You patronising fat…"  

The face of the peasant crumpled into a grimace of disgust, and he turned and ran through the trees, calling out "I found one. I found one of the freaks. Quick"

George watched in puzzlement as the man disappeared into the forest. Then shrugged and turned to be on his way. As he did so the leaves around him began to rustle, and a huge crowd of men emerged, carrying a wide selection of pitchforks, hoes and staffs. They looked considerably less than friendly. George turned and ran.                

Chapter 4—Disintegration

In another part of the forest, Marc sat in a small clearing, leaning on a tree and strumming a guitar. He faced, as always, away from the sun. George and Robert had noticed this peculiar habit and commented, but Marc refused to explain it, and often stopped speaking to them for days at a time when they asked.

As he sat, playing a few simple chords and singing a new song "Woodland Bop", which he had been inspired to write during his day in the forest, the peaceful silence was suddenly shattered. George burst through the trees, pulled Marc's arm desperately, and screamed something about some men coming to kill them all. Then he rushed off in the direction of the cottage.  

George did have a tendency to exaggerate, but he seemed pretty serious this time, so Marc uncrossed his legs, picked up his guitar and followed George into the trees.

Inside the cottage Robert sat in darkness, having drawn all the patchwork curtains, and stirred the stew by the firelight. As he stirred he looked away from the fire, and if he had to glance in its direction to check the stew he squinted horribly as the light hit his eyes.

Suddenly the front door burst open, casting full daylight onto Robert, who shied away and covered his face with his hands while making horrified gibbering noises. George rushed in and barely         allowed Marc time to follow him inside before he slammed the door shut again.

He immediately locked and barred the front door, closed the shutters, and began using the kitchen table and chairs to barricade himself and the other two men inside. Marc picked Robert up, brushed the ashes off his clothing, apologised for the light, and began to explain.

By the time he had finished his story the villagers had arrived outside, screaming and cursing enthusiastically. It had been a long while since the last time they had formed a crazed mob, and they were determined to enjoy themselves.

The three men were all very confused at this sudden turn of events. Marc opened the living room shutters and tried to ask the crowd what they wanted, but a fat butcher in a bloodstained apron spat at him, so he went back inside angrily.   

George continued using the household furniture, of which there was unfortunately very little, to block the doors and windows. Marc rushed to get the three sheep, Jemima the cow, the chickens and Charlotte the donkey into the relative safety of the house via he back door, which he bolted hurriedly behind him.

While these activities were taking place Robert sat sadly in the shadows, strumming his guitar and singing. The melancholy sound echoed around the small room. George and Marc paused in their endeavours and listened as the firelight cast strange shadows around the room. Neither of them knew exactly what he was singing about, but they both understood the sadness in it. 

Finally the song ended, and the last echoes died away, until there was no sound but the crackling and spitting of logs in the fire. A single tear slid down Marc's cheek, washing away the one he had painted there earlier in blue glitter. George's mascara formed wet tracks down his face. He broke the silence hesitantly "What was that called?"

Robert's hollow voice replied from the darkness of the hearth "Disintegration".

Chapter 5—Out of the fireplace and into the flames

Outside the villagers were becoming impatient. Some threw heavy stones at the cottage from a distance, while others tried to look for a way inside, which meant several stone-caused injuries to villagers' heads. The rest of the crown simply joined in screaming abuse at the inhabitants within.

Inside the cottage matters were getting steadily worse. George had now recovered from his fear earlier, and wanted to go out and fight back. Marc suggested appealing to their good hearts and religious morals (although he wavered in his conviction that this would be successful after George pointed out that the local priest was outside leading the     insults). Robert's only reaction to the situation was to hide under his cloak and scream at the others to shut up.

The argument was reaching a crescendo of accusations and insults; Robert screaming in rage, Marc shaking him violently and shouting at him to stop and George hitting them both with a frying pan, when there was a sudden silence outside. The three men froze. The whole world drew breath, and the cottage burst into flames.

The inhabitants, as one, stopped fighting and resolved to work together for the time being. But how to escape? Each door and window was barred, and the cottage was surrounded by a wall of fire.

The three men grabbed the wooden chests in which all their personal belongings were stored, and began to look for a way out. The problem seemed insurmountable, and the three men were beginning to despair when Marc suddenly grinned "The chimney!" He shouted, clapping his hands together in excitement. George looked around anxiously for water, then gave up and put the fire out instead with the cauldron of broth.

Marc began to climb awkwardly up through the clouds of smoke billowing from both above and below. George followed him hurriedly, and scrambled swiftly towards the tiny patch of light above.

Robert remained below on the hearth. He looked up anxiously after the two men, squinting at the sun and called worriedly "George? Marc?  I can't go up. What about the light?"  There was no reply.

Chapter 6 - The obligatory surprise revelations

The villagers were busily occupied trying to fan the flames when the local priest, Father Herod, noticed some movement on the thatched roof of the cottage, and two figures descending from the fire above. The crown backed away, unsure of itself, and seemed about to let the two figures pass, when Glautus the butcher, a particularly bloodthirsty   member of the mob, lifted up his meat cleaver and shouted some general encouragements to the others involving the phrases "Fellow villagers" "Moral responsibility" and "Smash their heads open with a sharp rock". 

The crowd surged forward enthusiastically. George and Marc were trapped, the mob in front and to the sides, the burning cottage behind.

"Go back and get Robert and the animals out" George told Marc "I'll deal with the crowd" 

Marc hesitated, as George could not by any stretch of the imagination be considered tough or macho. But nevertheless Robert still needed rescuing, so Marc turned and rushed to the front door, leaving George alone to face the village.

George turned calmly towards the hostile crowd, flicked back his cloak slowly, and assumed a particularly strange fighting stance, hands held in front of him, one in front of the other, perpendicular to his body.

The villagers were somewhat perplexed, but reasoned that however stupidly he stood they could still hit him with sticks. They advanced again.

One villager attempted to hit George with the staff he was holding. George grabbed the end of the staff as it flew towards him, spun around smoothly and lifted the man through the air on the other end of the staff. The man looked understandably confused as he flew suddenly in a perfect arc over George's head. 

George then shot through the air at a frankly ridiculous speed and kicked three men to the floor at once. He followed this with a bicycle kick and a particularly vicious cartwheel that significantly reduced the chances of the villager on the receiving end producing any more offspring in the near future. This disabled four more villagers in total. All the others had by this time backed away hurriedly, with the exception of the butcher, who began to swing his carving knife clumsily in George's direction.

George looked contemptuously at the heavy weapon. Then he lifted up his arms and spun gracefully through the air. There was an unpleasant squashy sound and the butcher fell backwards, the carving knife securely imbedded in his face.

George landed neatly on the ground, placed his hands together and bowed daintily, first to the terrified villagers and then to the corpse. "That, Glautus-San" he said softly "was Martial Arts."  

And what of Robert, trapped all the while in the burning remains of his home by his terror of the light? He had given up all hope, and was sitting stroking the donkey's muzzle and singing a song he had named after her when there was a hammering on the door. He hesitated, but reasoned that the mob was unlikely to set the house on fire and then start knocking politely on his door afterwards. Anyhow, he had very little to lose. Therefore he opened the door carefully, hiding behind it from the light. 

Marc rushed in, and quickly began loading the three wooden chests onto Charlotte, followed by any other items he could gather. Robert began to help him, looking confused. 

"How are we going to get past the mob?" He shouted over the noise of the crowd and the roar of the flames

"George is sorting it out."  Marc called back. Robert looked unconvinced, but continued to secure the chests. Marc meanwhile gathered together as much food as he could find and packed it in Charlotte's saddlebags. Then he wrapped Robert securely in his thick, black travelling cloak, pulling the hood over his face, and fastened some blinkers onto Charlotte, to ensure that neither the donkey nor the man panicked once they got outside. Finally he pointed Charlotte in the direction of the door and gave her a good smack.

Outside, George waited impatiently for the others. The villagers eyed him fearfully from a distance, and their whispering made him feel uneasy. Suddenly the cottage door burst open and Charlotte came galloping out, Robert clutching the reins in a terror heightened by his blind state. She was followed by the sheep, Jemima the cow, and a stream of chickens, all panicking.

George caught Charlotte's saddlebag as she raced past and managed with difficulty to halt her terrified progress. As he helped Robert down he looked back anxiously at the now fiercely burning house. There was no sign of Marc. As he watched the cottage, never a steady building to begin with, began to wobble, and the front wall, with a slow certainty, fell backwards into a mass of flames.

George stared at the burning pyre hopefully for a few moments, and then looked away, tears forming in his eyes. It was clear no human being could have survived. He turned sadly away from the remains of what had been his home and began to help Robert up.

Suddenly he spun back round to face the cottage and assumed once more his fighting stance, dropping Robert to the floor like a sack of potatoes as he did so. But the noise he had heard was not the step of a hostile villager, it was Marc, emerging from the conflagration.  He walked calmly towards them through the flames, unharmed, carrying Betsie the chicken in his arms.      

Chapter 7—Robert is finally useful

Robert, having been dropped to the floor by George, had rolled to his knees. He shielded his eyes and squinted ahead, but his eyesight was poor in strong light, and all he saw was a yellow glow, from which the dark shadow of Marc emerged.

There was no time to explain this apparent miracle, and Marc seemed less than perturbed about the matter, and began immediately to harness Charlotte to the cart. George and Robert helped him load the items carried out by Charlotte, a few sacks of grain and oats from the barn, and the chickens. Sadly, the three sheep and Jemima had to be left behind, but the men reasoned that there was plenty of grass for them to eat, and they could shelter in the barn in cold weather. 

Having completed these hurried preparations Marc climbed up onto the cart, put on his riding hat, and grabbed the reins. George sat next to him at the front of the cart.

Robert sat sadly at the back of the cart, facing away from the other two and watching the pile of smoking ash that had once been his sanctuary from the outside world. 

George and Marc were just breathing sighs of relief, and beginning to discuss where they should go next when Robert's doleful voice interrupted them  "There's some men on horses trying to kill us by throwing pointy rocks" he informed them. "Typical." He sighed deeply.

Marc hurriedly tried to spur on Charlotte and George jumped around screaming helpful and constructive things like "They're gaining on us." and "They're getting knives out." Charlotte strained desperately to outrun the pursuers, the wind blowing her ears back and making her eyes stream with tears.

Robert alone remained calm, his white face impassive. Slowly he turned around and picked up his guitar, which had been loaded onto the cart earlier with his other belongings. Then he stared ahead and began to strum softly. A strange noise filled the air. The villagers' horses pricked up their ears. Then each and every one of them stopped in its tracks and sat down, tipping off their riders, who rolled along the forest path, making no attempt to stop themselves, until they were blocked by trees or ridges. In just a few seconds every single villager lay crying in the road.

And yet Charlotte was unaffected. The old donkey, being totally deaf, had heard not a note, and raced on as before, if a little less under control now that Marc had collapsed in a sobbing heap in the front seat, his glitter once again running down his cheeks. Fortunately he still held Charlotte's reins, clutching them so tightly Robert had difficulty in making him let go.

Having moved Marc to the back of the cart with the tearful George 

he took the reins himself, and steered the cart away from the main track and into the dark heart of the forest.      


	2. Part 2

Part Two

Chapter 1—Stuck in the forest with you

george and Marc awoke in a forest clearing. The sun was shining softly from behind the trees that surrounded them, and Robert was cooking breakfast (eggs) over a campfire, shading his face from the light grumpily. The cart was parked behind him, and Charlotte was nearby, enjoying a breakfast of fresh grass. Betsie and the other hens were 

pecking about excitedly, apparently enjoying the change in environment.

            "How long have we been asleep?" asked George, stretching his arms and legs. "It feels like years."

            Marc rubbed sleep from his eyes, and grinned at Robert. "That trick last night was pretty groovy actually" he said cheerfully "In an un-groovy sort of way."

"Thanks?" guessed Robert, looking puzzled.  

"I mean, it was groovy that we escaped" said Marc "But the depression was pretty much as grooveless as you can get." 

"So, it was smooth then?" suggested Robert. Marc laughed.

"Yeah, whatever"  said George "So, what're we going to do now?"

"Well first we're going to eat breakfast" said Robert, lifting the pan away from the fire and holding it out to the other two. "Sorry, no plates" he explained. George looked sulky. "How the hell can you eat fried egg with your fingers" he said grumpily  "It's revolting" 

Robert shrugged and ate his own egg in one bite. George wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

"And after we've had breakfast" Robert continued "I suggest we go and knock at that little house over there. I would have knocked when I got here, but I didn't want to without you two being awake in case it was one of them from last night." He shuddered.

"Well, we won't find out who lives there by sitting here."  said George. Then he stood up and began to stamp the fire out.

            A few minutes later the three men approached the house cautiously. It was even smaller than their own cottage, and in a very poor condition. Virtually everything, from the leaning fence to the badly 

fitting door to the damp walls, appeared to be badly in need of immediate repair.

            As the three men got closer they could hear a raised voice, and the low murmur of another speaker. It was clear that some kind of argument was in progress. They were unsure whether or not they should interrupt the disagreement, and were debating this in half-whispers when George noticed that the window at the side of the house was slightly open. He beckoned the other two, and they crept quietly towards it.

Chapter 2 — Divine mercy

the house was sparsely furnished, and in as poor a condition inside as out. An old woman in a rough, brown dress was leaning against a table in the centre of the room, her voice raised in a combination of fear and anger. The attention of the three men was however given primarily to the other figure in the room. It was Father Herod, last seen inciting a mob to murder, now standing in front of the old woman, looking pious in his robes and explaining that if she couldn't pay her rent today then he was terribly afraid that she would have to leave his cottage. Immediately.

            The old woman protested that she would have been able to do as he asked, but her crops had been trampled last night by an angry mob and thus she had nothing to sell at market the following week, and would starve if she didn't keep this week's rent money for food.

            The priest smiled and put his black-clad arm around her. He sighed deeply. "My dear" he said smoothly, in his strange, soft voice "surely you can spare a little of your money. For the church?"  He looked at her hopefully with his watery blue eyes.

            "Well" began the woman hesitantly "As I say, I have a little money for food. Perhaps if I gave you part of it?"

"I'm sure that would be adequate, my dear" smiled Father Herod. His tongue flickered out over his pale lips.

            The woman reached behind a badly carved wooden bear on her mantelpiece and picked up a small leather pouch tied with string, which she began to open slowly. The priest's slim white fingers removed it from her weak grasp. "This should about cover it, with a little extra for the church, to forgive you your sins, my dearest."  He smiled again, and turned to leave.

            "But Father" the woman rushed after him and clutched his arm "I have no more money for food"

"But a clean soul my lamb" said the priest soothingly as he slid out of the door.

            The woman stood in silence, her back to the window. Then her shoulders began to shake. At the window, the three men turned away.

Chapter 3—A useful discovery

"father Herod was very harsh, even for him"  said George as they turned away, leaving the old woman to cry in peace.

"Bet I know why" said Marc, rather smugly.

"Why?"

"He wants rid of the old woman so he can move some friend of his in there" Marc explained. "I heard them talking about it while I was in town last week."

"Couldn't he just throw her out then?" puzzled George

" 'Course not. It's a parish property. He's not allowed. Plus he's probably enjoying being as sadistic as possible ."

"I hate Father Herod." said George, with passion. 

"Yeah, me too. I hate the way he looks at you with his eyes all funny, like he knows all your secrets and disapproves"

"And the way he puts his arm around you when he talks, like he's your friend."

"And leans really close to you"

"And watches you when you don't know he's there".

Both men shuddered. Robert, who had been ignoring them both, suddenly spoke.

"I think we should shelter in that barn and discuss our plans." he said "And we can move on later, or tomorrow."

"Why can't we just ask if we can stay for the night in the house?" Asked Marc "We could pay her in food."

"Because we're murderers on the run from the law, idiot" said George wearily.

"You're a murderer." Marc corrected, "I didn't touch him."

"Well either way they want to kill us all."  Robert pointed out "Now come on."

The disagreement thus concluded they collected the cart and animals and headed for the barn nearby.

            It was immediately obvious that the barn was not in fact a barn. It was in reality a small, extremely weathered boat house. A heap of what could possibly, a long time ago in a former life, have been fishing nets lay tangled on the ground next to a few lobster pots rusted to the ground. In the far corner was a single, rather old but fairly sturdy looking sailboat of a medium size with a tiny cabin and a trapdoor in the deck, painted bottle green.

            Robert and George headed over to examine the craft. Marc stopped one of the stupider chickens running into the water and followed them.

            "It's perfect." said George gleefully "We can easily escape by sea." He lifted the trapdoor "Look, a little hold thingy, for storing stuff. And there's a little cabin over there too. It's _perfect_."   

            "So we're going to steal a poor, starving old woman's boat?" said Robert "Well, that's really nice. Shall we murder her and burn her home down too?"

            "Stop being all clever and sarcastic Robert" said Marc "Why don't we just leave Charlotte and the cart here in return.  A much better bargain for her, but needs must." He looked smug at having solved the problem.

            "Shall we leave the chickens here as well?" asked George

            "Don't you dare leave Betsie" screamed Marc, clutching the aforementioned chicken to his chest.

            "Alright, we'll take the chickens for Gods' sakes" shouted Robert impatiently, kicking a passing hen rather viciously. Marc pushed him in retribution and he nearly fell into the nearby water.

"Look, could everyone calm down please" shouted George.

"Oh shut up murderer" said Robert grumpily.

Tears came to George's eyes. "Will you stop going on about it." He brushed away the tears angrily "It was self-defence, and it saved your life you miserable fat pig"

"Alright" shouted Marc "Calm down and shut up. Can we escape now and argue later?"

"We all seem to have overlooked one thing" interrupted Robert "Where exactly are we escaping to?"

Chapter 4 — The geography of Rarn

here it is necessary to explain a little of the geography of the land which our three heroes inhabit.

            The Land of Rarn is part of a large continent that its inhabitants call Uluria. Rarn is situated in Western Uluria, and is often described as a forest country. Its wildlife is obviously woodland animals such as bears, foxes and squirrels, and even a few wild boars. 

            Most settlements in Rarn are village size, but a few are considered towns. There is one city, the capital, Codonopal, which is considered by those inhabitants of Uluria who have actually heard of it to be ridiculously small for a city, never mind a capital. In fact it is only allowed to call itself a city because it was the only settlement in the whole of Rarn with both a    Cathedral and large prison.

            Rarn's main export is, naturally, wood. However, Rarn is not a trading nation, and its inhabitants keep themselves to themselves for the most part.

            Uluria is made up of many different countries of varying sizes and disputable borders. The temperature, generally speaking, increases the further South you go. However the Deep South, nearer to the sea, is often stormy and wet, and so a far more hospitable climate than the desert centre of Uluria.

            There are a few small islands, the only significant ones being to the south, but these are generally just extensions of the mainland rather than independent countries in their own right.

            Little is known about the rest of Uluria by the natives of Rarn, which is not a country that bred explorers, or even the intelligent. However this was not entirely their own fault. Exploring was difficult and costly, and communication networks poor throughout Uluria.

            Even less was known about the rest of the world, hence the difficult situation of the three friends. In fact, as far as Ulurians knew there were no other lands. Many myths had naturally developed on the subject of what lay across the sea, but few facts.

            What was certain was that it was safe to sail for up to three days into the open sea. On the fourth day however, your boat would enter the fog which encircled the continent. Some boats had ventured within this fog, and reported that the further they sailed the denser and darker was the fog that surrounded them. There were also stories of strange monsters and horrible ghostly sights, but these were unconfirmed.

            But no-one had any idea at all what lay beyond the fog. The longest anyone had sailed into it and returned was three days. Many people had, of course, tried to be the first to sail through the fog, although perhaps not so many as you'd expect, due to the high cost of ships and the desire for self-preservation. But no-one who had sailed for more than three days had ever come back.

            So, as far as our three friends knew there was nothing outside Uluria but a quite possibly endless fog. Thus their alternatives for escape were few.

Chapter 5 — A decision has to be made

"well, we may as well sail North" said George "The nearest settlements are that way, even if it is horribly cold."

"No, I don't think...I mean...well...I..." stammered Robert desperately. George turned to Marc "North?"

""Yeah, sounds…"

"**NO**" screamed Robert, stamping his foot on the boards of the boathouse.

"God, all right." said George impatiently "Calm down. If you're that bothered we'll go South"

"We're not going anywhere near the South." said Marc urgently "Nowhere near." He moved towards George threateningly. 

"Get out of my face you freak" shrieked George, backing away.

"Don't you call me a freak, you mad transvestite."

"Mad what, you…"

"Alright, alright" interrupted Robert "Shut up both of you. We'll just sail East, then everyone'll be happy."

"Oh no, not East" said George firmly "Anywhere but East."

"Well, someone will have to give up" Marc pointed out.

"And it won't be me" said George.

"Nor me" Robert glared defiantly

"Well there's no way it's gonna be me" said Marc.

The three men stood in a triangle, George frowned in annoyance, Robert looked spitefully at the other two and Marc clenched his jaw determinedly.

"So, shall we just stand here until we're killed then?" asked Robert.

"Well, there's only one solution." said Marc

"We kill Robert?" suggested George. Robert looked both angry and upset, like a particularly bloodthirsty scolded puppy.

"What we should do" explained Marc "Is to sail into the fog. At least that way we'll all be happy"  

"And dead" Robert pointed out.

"How do you know we'll die? Nobody ever came back to tell."

"Because they were dead." said Robert bluntly.

"Do you have to be such a pessimist?"

"Well one of us has to consider reality. It's not all glitter and lipstick."

"Personally, I agree with Marc" said George

"But you called him a freak a second ago."

"Yeah, in the heat of an argument."

Robert sighed and looked at the other two with contempt.

"I just think" explained George " That if there's nowhere for us to go North, South, East or West then we'll just have to go somewhere else."

"And die?" said Robert "Oooh, great plan guys. Or we could just hang ourselves right here."

"Just 'cause you're scared" said George

"Of course I'm scared. We'll die."

"Well I'm not scared", Marc said looking determined, if a little nervous.

"That's because you're stupid." said Robert meanly. Marc looked hurt.

"So it's decided then." said George, and he began to load the contents of the cart onto the boat immediately, in order to prevent further argument. Marc followed suit. Robert looked grumpy, but reasoned that whatever else happened he definitely didn't want to stay there, and began to help them,

            In a few minutes the boat was ready. They said goodbye to Charlotte, and left her hitched to the cart with a letter attached to her bridle explaining the reasons for the exchange (without mentioning phrases like "murder" "meat cleaver" or "dead butcher").

            Finally they climbed into the boat, taking the chickens with them, and prepared to set sail.

            Just as they were about to begin Robert suddenly jumped up. "I nearly forgot" he said "It's incredibly bad luck to sail on an unnamed boat."

"It's probably got a name already" said George, who was busy trying to sit down without an over-excited chicken getting In his way.

Marc hung his head over the side. "Well there's no name plaque."

"Boats are supposed to have female names" said Robert "I think we should call it Mary. That's a good name." He looked suddenly sad. "Or Fuchsia." he said softly.

"It's especially good luck if it's named after a female on board." Marc informed the others.

"The George it is then" said Robert. George looked as if he was seriously considering ripping Robert's hair out. Fortunately he was distracted by Marc saying "We could call it Betsie. She's a girl."

"No, she's a chicken." said Robert.

"We could call it after an animal" mused George "How about The Chameleon?"

"Or Cat Black" said Marc

"Look, we'll never decide, so lets just pick a name each and join them together" said Robert "Or we'll be here forever."

And so a few minutes later the "Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon" set off into the open sea, the three men waving goodbye to Charlotte as they sailed away into the calm waters.


	3. Part 3

Chapter 1 — On the first day

The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon drifted gently under a soft sky. George lay in the sun slowly turning a caramel brown colour. Robert sat inside the small cabin, in the shade, lazily wondering if he should bother making dinner. Marc was at the back of the boat, where the sun couldn't be seen, looking for shapes in the clouds. He was just noticing one that looked like a carrot in a bowler hat when Robert spoke.

"I was just wondering" he said slowly, sitting up "How exactly you walked through that fire yesterday Marc. I was thinking perhaps you're..." he smiled thinly "an evil demon? 'Cause if you are we'd better throw you overboard now."

"What about that weird song of yours?"  Marc objected hurriedly "That was clearly the work of some evil power. In fact, your evil powers would explain why you're so scared of light."

At the front of the boat George laughed. "Evil demons? You two must be getting really bored."

"Well he looks like a demon" objected Marc "All black, and such a white face."

"Surely if I was a demon I'd have the sense not to look like one?" Robert pointed out. 

"Well, you're pretty stupid" said Marc

"He's more intelligent that you." said George

"Oh shut up George" said Marc sulkily "Actually, this conversation reminds me. I meant to ask about that dead butcher thing."

"What about it?" George asked warily.

"I was just wondering where you learnt to fight like that?" said Marc casually. 

"Like what?"

"There's no point in pretending. I saw you." he turned to Robert "You should've seen it. He was so fast you couldn't see him move. And he screamed something foreign in a really weird way. And then he beat, like, fifty men or something. It was brilliant." 

"Where'd you learn to fight like that George?" asked Robert

"Nowhere. I can't fight at all. He's lying. Let's stop talking and...sleep instead." jabbered George.

"You know, it seems to me that there are a lot of secrets being kept here" said Robert "In fact, it's a bit stupid really. Don't we trust each other enough by now?"

"Yeah, you're right." agreed Marc "So what's your mysterious past Robert?"

"I'm not going first" said Robert "George can. He was at the cottage first.

"Alright," George sat at the back of the boat and made himself comfortable. "But only if you both promise to tell me your stories afterwards"

"Cross my heart and hope to die" said Robert

"Stick a needle in my eye" added Marc

"Don't be so horrible Marc" said George "Anyway, here goes…

Chapter 2 — George's story

 "I suppose you always thought I was just a simple peasant like you. But I am in fact the son of one of the most prosperous and important families in the East" began George "I was brought up in the court of the Jade Emperor, ruler of all the Eastern Lands, and descendant of the gods. My father was an important statesman, and so I learnt many Oriental Arts that all noblemen should know, including Martial Arts, at which I attained the rank of Master."

"Did you learn origami?" interrupted Marc, laughing.

"Or how to grow bonsai trees?" Robert added, grinning.

"Of course" said George, looking serious. "I told you, I learnt all the Noble Arts."

Robert and Marc restrained their laughter. George continued."When I reached eighteen years of age I was given a job at court, due to my father's rank. Not very important, but with excellent prospects. Court at this time was very organised and sedate - the Emperor was, after all, eighty-six, and most of his courtiers were, around sixty, like my father. 

I only saw the Emperor a few times, from a distance, so the only description I can give you is that he was small and incredibly wrinkled, with a long beard and heavy eyebrows, both died black with some kind of greasy substance, quite like boot polish, which was very shiny and sticky. As a ruler he was staid, thrifty and above all highly moralistic.   

I had little time to learn anything further about him, because six months after I began my job at court he died. He was succeeded by his grandson, a young man of only twenty-one years. It was immediately obvious that the new Emperor was going to be very different from his grandfather.

The new Emperor's coronation cost more than those of the previous four Emperors combined. He insisted on robes made from cloth of pure gold and the finest red velvet, and had most of the best jewellery in the kingdom made of gold, ruby, jade and the like gathered for himself and the members of the procession which followed him. This included hundreds of slave girls carrying golden plates piled high with jewels, tamed tigers in jade collars, hundreds of soldiers in new uniforms, and all the courtiers, dressed in finery paid for by the Emperor. I of course, was part of the parade. My father refused to go, as a protest against the extravagance."

"How tame were the tigers?" asked Marc "Could you ride on them?"

"Certainly" said George "They were, of course, ridden by the most beautiful slave girls, who wore clothes of the finest silk, and glittered with jewellery."

"No one can ride a tiger." protested Robert "They'd be killed."

"Three girls were, while practising" said George "and nine were scarred permanently. Anyway, the Emperor's first act once he was crowned was to order the building of a new palace. It was to be the biggest building in the East, if not the whole of Uluria, and involved hundreds of tonnes of marble, lapis lazuli, gold, silver, platinum, and, of course, jade. Most of the interior decorations, particularly in the rooms which were to hold official ceremonies, were in the Imperial colours: crimson, gold and jade. 

The whole compound was surrounded by a huge, decorative wall. At the front of this wall were massive gates of bronze, inscribed with the two most important moral laws of the country: "Of all evils fornication or adultery is the chief." and "Of all good deeds the principal one is filial piety." The gateposts were decorated with two dragons made of both red and yellow gold, and inlaid with jade.

These gates were designed to be very imposing, since they were all that most people ever saw of the palace. Only the Royal Family themselves, the courtiers, their families, and very select servants were allowed inside. It was so large as to be almost a city in its own right, and courtiers often described it as the City of Heaven built upon the Earth, although they only said this in an attempt to please the Emperor.

At this time the people of the East were suffering from food shortages brought on by a series of poor harvests. Disease was widespread due to the malnutrition, and there were reports of several different kinds of plague. But those of us in court lived in virtual isolation behind the brass doors. And court was very different under this new Emperor.

As soon as he was crowned his majesty began replacing the dull old ministers his grandfather had relied upon. By the time, a year later, the palace was complete, there were no old officials left. The new criteria for being a courtier seemed to be youth, good looks and total devotion to the Emperor.    

His Royal Majesty spent very little time bothering with the day-to-day affairs of running the country. He preferred to spend his time holding huge banquets, at which guests were encouraged to wear more and more outlandish costumes as time went on. It became fashionable for men to wear make-up and rather effeminate clothes, and for women to wear men's clothing. Everyone, male or female, competed to impress the Emperor. He had a habit of dismissing and appointing ministers and courtiers on a whim, and although he already had a wife and six official concubines, he was known to often take mistresses.  

"This Emperor sounds like a lucky guy." said Robert, grinning.

"Was he good looking?" asked Marc "Or was it just because he was powerful?"

"Oh, he was gorgeous" said George softly "Absolutely gorgeous." He smiled strangely and stared into space. Robert and Marc exchanged glances.

"Er, George?" said Robert

"What?"

"You were telling us a story."

"Oh right, sorry" said George, flustered "Well anyway, one day the Emperor announced he was holding the greatest banquet yet, to celebrate his twenty-second birthday. Now, at this time I held the same unimportant role in court as I had two years ago, and the emperor had never even looked at me. I resolved that at this banquet I would stand out, and be spoken to by his Royal Majesty.  

For the banquet I invented a completely new hairstyle - many thin plaits decorated with pieces of     ribbons and things . I wore this with a weird hat that I made, which I still have now. You know, the black one ? I also wore a huge amount of make-up, especially eye-shadow and lipstick.

When I arrived at the Great Hall the Emperor was sitting on his red and gold throne, wearing a beautiful emerald velvet cloak designed especially for the occasion and talking to his chief advisor. I spent most of the banquet trying to attract his attention, as did everyone else in the room, but he was too far away, and never even looked in my direction.

I had given up all hope when suddenly the emperor clapped his hands, and a group of musicians immediately entered the room, kow-towed to the Emperor and began to play."

"How do you kow-tow?" asked Marc "It sounds disgusting."

"It's a really low bow, where you sort of kneel and put your forehead on the floor" George explained.

"Sounds stupid to me." said Marc

"Well what do you know? You talk to chickens."

Marc looked offended, but Robert prevented an argument by insisting on the continuation of the story.

"So anyway" continued George "The musicians started playing and people got up to dance. The dance floor was right in front of the emperor, and most people were trying to impress him. But His Royal Majesty simply looked bored. So I thought "What have I got to lose?", and I got up and danced too." Robert began to laugh .

"What's funny?" demanded George, looking annoyed. 

"I've seen you dance." said Robert.

"Oh shut up." George turned his back on Robert and continued talking. "So, I'd hardly started to dance when suddenly the emperor began to laugh. Everyone stood totally still and silent, as was the rule, and waited uncomfortably while the emperor laughed. Eventually he managed to stop, pointed at me and said..." George stopped and looked away in shame "and said… "That's the funniest thing I've ever seen." And then he got up, and left the room." George rested his head in his hands miserably.

"I'm beginning to quite like this Emperor guy" said Robert, grinning.

"You don't understand" said George, tears forming in his eyes. "It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I was too ashamed to ever show my face in court again. Next day I didn't dare go to work. I stayed in bed instead and planned how to kill myself."  

"You always were a drama queen." said Robert. 

"Will you stop interrupting." said George grumpily "For Gods' sake. Anyway, so I was just working out how I could hang myself from the doorframe when a messenger arrived. I was ordered to present myself to the Emperor…" George paused dramatically, then continued "...in his bedroom." 

Robert and Marc looked less than impressed by this revelation. George, annoyed by this lacklustre   response, explained impatiently " It was a great honour. According to tradition only the Emperor's wives and concubines were allowed within the Imperial bedchamber."

Robert raised an eyebrow. Marc giggled, but tried to hide it.

"Well from that day forward the Emperor and I were the greatest friends." said George, smiling.

"Yeah, sure, friends." said Robert. Marc giggled all the more. 

"In fact" continued George "he insisted I give up work immediately and move from my living quarters to the most luxurious rooms in the palace, after his of course."

"Whose rooms were they before you moved in?" asked Robert.

"Oh, his wife's" said George dismissively. Robert raised his eyebrow again. "What happened to her then?" he asked.

"Oh, he moved her somewhere further away from his bedroom" said George "The best thing was that he let me keep all her jewellery and dresses. He said I looked much better in them than her. Oh, he was so nice to me." 

"Yeah, I'm sure" said Robert grinning. Marc tried unsuccessfully to suppress his laughter. 

"Look, I'm not going to bother telling you if you're not going to take in seriously Robert" said George "And I don't know what you're laughing at Marc, of all people."

"Sorry" said Marc "It's not the story, it's Robert. He's making me laugh." Robert raised his eyebrow again and Marc descended into giggles.

"Babies" said George "So, anyway the Emperor was really nice to me. He even let me call him by his real name, not one of his sixteen official ones."

"What was his name then?" asked Robert.

"Oh, Jon." said George "anyhow, he was wonderfully generous. He gave me four palaces of my own, and hundreds of servants and jewels and stuff."

"Four palaces?" interrupted Marc "That's just greedy." 

"No it's not." objected George "It was one for each season actually."

"Oh well, in that case…" muttered Robert sarcastically

"You're so lucky" sighed Marc "No Emperors ever fall in love with me. Only stupid normal people." He looked sulky.

"Yeah, it was brilliant." agreed George. "That was when I started writing music properly. I wrote songs for Jon mainly, to sing to him when he came to visit me at one of my palaces. His favourite was the one that went…" he began to hum tentatively, and then sing: 

"Desert loving in your eyes all the way  
 If I listen to your lies would you say  
 I'm a man without conviction  
 I'm a man who doesn't know  
 How to sell a contradiction  
 You come and go  
 You come and go  
  
Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma Chameleon  
You come and go   
You come and go  
Loving would be easy  
If your colours were like my dream  
Red, gold and green  
Red, gold and green  
  
Didn't hear your wicked words every day  
And you used to be so sweet I heard you say  
That my love was an addiction  
When we cling our love is strong  
When you go you're gone forever  
You string along  
You string along  
  
Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma Chameleon  
You come and go   
You come and go  
Loving would be easy  
If your colours were like my dream  
Red, gold and green  
Red, gold and green  
  
Every day is like survival   
You're my lover not my rival  
Every day is like survival  
You're my lover not my rival  
  
I'm a man without conviction  
I'm a man who doesn't know  
How to sell a contradiction  
You come and go  
You come and go  
  
Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma Chameleon  
You come and go   
You come and go  
Loving would be easy  
If your colours were like my dream  
Red, gold and green  
Red, gold and green"

"That's disgusting" said Robert

"Well I thought it was very sweet actually...oh wait" Marc grinned "I get it."

George blushed "Well, Jon liked it anyway" he said. "Anyhow, there I was sitting around in palaces all day with nothing to do, and servants to do all the work for me, and obviously I got bored. So I spent most of my time laying around in bed smoking opium and waiting for Jon to visit."

"Doesn't sound too bad a life to me." said Marc "How come you left?" 

"Oh well, I didn't plan to" explained George "But one day I was lying in bed smoking and I suddenly felt like trying on some of my expensive dresses. So I rang for a servant to help me. But for some reason no one answered. I would have gone to see what was the matter, but I'd smoked an awful lot of opium that day, so I just went back to sleep. When I woke up I realised immediately something as wrong."

"Why? Was the palace filled with a strange and unnatural silence?" suggested Robert

"Or did you just have an inexplicable sense of foreboding?" asked Marc.

"No. My room was filled with people stealing my things." explained George, looking annoyed at the memory "They looked quite nasty, so I crept as quietly as I could out of bed, and snuck past them and out of the room. Fortunately they were too preoccupied with my possessions to notice me.

I walked around the palace looking for help, but everywhere I went was silent, and also empty due to the servants looting everything. So I decided to go to the Jade Palace, which was were Jon lived, and get him to kill all my servants for stealing my things. Fortunately I was staying at the time in the autumn palace, which was within the Jade City, rather than one of the palaces in the countryside.

When I got outside it was horrible. My palace grounds were full of people ruining the ornamental garden and trying to rip off the ornamentation of the building, which was made of fine quality red gold. And the city outside was even worse. There was rioting in the streets, and everyone was shouting things about revolution, and destroying the aristocracy."

"Good time to be the Emperor's favourite" said Robert wryly.

"When I finally reached the Jade Palace" George continued "the bronze gates were wide open, and peasants were running all over the place in horrible, cheap, tacky, clothes." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "They were getting mud on all the beautiful things , and stealing anything that looked even vaguely valuable. It was obvious that Jon wasn't going to be any help. I was just beginning to panic when suddenly I recognised one of the peasants hurrying past. He looked a lot older and more worn than when I had last seen him, but it was definitely my father."

"Oh yeah, I forgot you had a father." said Marc

"How can you forget he had a father?" asked Robert "It's a bit obvious isn't it?"

"Well, you know, I forgot in the context of the story he had a father. I mean, obviously he had one, but…"

"Yeah, shut up now" interrupted Robert "Get on with it George"

"Well, I ran after him, calling out, and eventually he turned around and I sort of fell on him" said George "By this time I was crying and I tried to hug him, but he shrugged me off and looked at me strangely. Then I realised I was still wearing a silk nightdress and loads of beautiful jewellery. I was also wearing quite a lot of perfume, but you could still smell the opium underneath."

Well, I thought I'd better say something to get on his good side, since I needed his help, so I began by asking where he'd been. It turned out that when he'd lost his job in the palace with the rest of the old officials he hadn't been given a pension. He'd had to go and live in a horrible mud hut with my mother and beg for a living. Naturally I felt terribly guilty, and tried to give him some of my jewellery to sell, but he wouldn't take it. I thought perhaps he was angry because we'd lost touch, although that was common then for younger sons, so I said I was sorry I hadn't seen him for a long time, but I'd been busy at the palace.

When I said this he looked at me strangely, then drew himself up to his full height, looking quite as proud in his old, darned peasant clothes as he had in his silken courtier's robes, and said slowly "Busy at the palace? Yes, the whole city knows what you've been doing at the palace. You have disgraced your family, and you have disgraced your name. I will die before I will call you son again. May the mob tear you into a thousand pieces and leave you for the dogs." And he spat in my face, and turned away." George began to look tearful, and took out a handkerchief.

"So, have you still got all this jewellery?" asked Robert with interest.

"What jewellery?" said George, wiping his eyes.

"The jewellery you mentioned you were wearing. Is it valuable, and do you still have it?"

"It's extremely valuable, and no I don't have it." said George, looking annoyed.

"Oh." Robert sighed and sat back.

"Actually" said George "It was ripped off me by the mob while I was trying to get out of the city. I escaped by stealing a boat and sailing down the river."

"So, no jewellery then?" said Robert

"No!" screamed George

"Sorry, I was only asking." said Robert, looking disgruntled.

"I did manage to keep one thing actually." George admitted. He stood up and headed into the cabin. Then he searched through his wooden chest and removed a small bundle of cloth, which he carried back to the other two. It was a torn piece of scarlet and jade silk, woven with gold thread. He slowly unwrapped it and held out the contents cupped within his hands. It was a necklace of round, white stones, their surface shimmering with the colours that surrounded them. 

"They're called pearls"  said George "They come form inside shell-fish."

"Shell-fish?" said Marc, touching a pearl uncertainly. "Still, they are pretty, even so."

"Well, that's the story really." said George "I landed the boat quite near to the forest, and found the cottage after a few days walking, and I've been there ever since. Until now, obviously."

"So, was the cottage empty?" asked Marc

"No" admitted George "There was an old man in there, but he was pretty dead, so I moved in."

"Dead?" Marc shuddered "Did you have to bury him yourself?"

"Yeah. I put him in the garden and planted cabbages over him." said George. Marc looked disgusted. 

"So, what happened to Jon then?" asked Robert.

"I don't know." George sighed, "I never saw him again. I suppose the mob killed him." Tears which had been forming in his eyes fell slowly down his cheeks, and he hid his face in his hands and began to cry. Marc comforted him, and Robert rushed to make some hot, sweet tea.    

When George had recovered somewhat the three men sat thoughtfully sipping their tea. Eventually, George said softly "He used to have a nickname for me."

"It's nothing disgusting is it?"  said Robert, wrinkling his nose.

"Or all cutesy?" added Marc

"No, no." George wiped his eyes. "He used to call me his chrysanthemum." Marc and Robert looked puzzled.

"It's a flower form the East." said George "Although I saw one in the forest the same day that, you know, the mob thing happened. I knew it was a bad omen."

The three men sat in silence, the setting sun casting a warm red-orange glow over their faces.

"It's getting late." said Robert, standing up "I guess I'll tell my story tomorrow." And he hurried inside before anyone could object.

Chapter 3—On the Second Day

Robert's hand hung lazily over the side of the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon and trailed in the calm water. It was dusk, so he had finally agreed to leave the small cabin in which he spent the daylight hours.

George sat at the front of the boat, considering the inventory of supplies he had spent all day      compiling. Marc was in the hold, having been instructed to carry up a sack of lentils for the evening meal.

Robert rested his head on the boat's side and stared thoughtfully at the grey surface of the sea. It would have been beautifully peaceful where it not for the sounds of George muttering under his breath as he read the inventory to himself and Marc struggling up the ladders which led from the hold to the cabin, and then from the cabin to the deck. 

Eventually the cabin door opened slowly and hesitantly and Marc emerged, wobbling under the weight of the sack he held.  "Well don't help me or anything." He dropped the sack heavily to the deck, causing it to rock slightly and put his hands on his hips petulantly.

Robert looked up wearily. "It's your job, not mine. You never help me with the cooking."

"But I can't cook" objected Marc. "Anyway, you only had to open a door."

"Well I didn't want to, dwarf-boy" said Robert, who was rather short-tempered that evening.

"I think short men can be very attractive actually." said George 

"I'm not short" Marc stamped a small foot, causing the boat to rock again. "I'm small. Short people are all tubby and shaped like barrels. I'm in proportion."

"Depends what you call proportioned." said Robert, flicking his hand lazily through the water "Perhaps you're to small. You're a lot smaller than me anyway."

"Well maybe you're too tall" suggested Marc.

George finished whatever it was he was doing with the inventory and threw it carelessly into the cabin. "It's about time you told us you story now Robert, it's getting pretty late." he pointed pout, yawning as if in confirmation of this fact.

"Tell about how he came to the cottage first" said Marc eagerly, sitting cross-legged in front of George and staring at him with intently.

"If you like." said George. "Okay, well...it was about six or seven months after I'd found the cottage. I was on my way back from market in the cart. There'd been a big storm the night before and everywhere was really wet and muddy, so I had to drive quite slowly and carefully. Which was pretty lucky actually, 'cause otherwise I might not have seen Robert laying in the road until I'd run over him. 

I didn't realise he was a person at first, 'cause he was all wrapped up in a black cloak. And when I pulled the cloak back he was so white I thought he was dead. But I checked, and found he was breathing, so I put him in the cart and took him home."

"But what if he'd been a mad psychotic killer?" said Marc anxiously. "He could've chopped you up into little bits and hidden them under the front step."

"Yeah, well, he wasn't." said George, looking rather puzzled. "Once I got him inside he woke up pretty soon and he was lovely. He was really apologetic for bothering me." George smiled at Robert. "I was glad of the company and he didn't have anywhere else to go, so I let him stay."

"Didn't you ask him where he was from?" asked Marc.

"Yeah, but he didn't want to answer, so I left it. Anyway, I was more interested in why he wore such weird make-up."

"Why?" asked Marc

"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me that either." 

There was a silence. George chewed the skin around his fingernails, Robert continued trailing his hand in the darkening water and Marc twisted his hair around his fingers.

It was almost ten minutes before the silence was broken by George. "Robert? You haven't forgotten you've got to tell your story have you?"

Robert sighed and sat up. "Well I guess I might as well get on with it." He said resignedly.

 Chapter 4—Robert's Story

"as you have probably already guessed I come from the North." Robert began. "In fact, I was born in the Palace of Niflheim, which is situated in the Gleipner Mountains. I, like George, held an important position in court. In fact, you could say I held the most important position. You see…" Robert looked slightly embarrassed "...I was the King."    

            "A King?" said George, rather doubtfully "You could have mentioned this before Robert. I mean, being a King is a pretty big secret."

            "Were you an important King?" asked Marc excitedly. Robert nodded "King Robert II of           Vanaheim, the most powerful man in the North." he said unenthusiastically.

"Really?" asked George looking impressed. "Then how come you're stuck in a tiny fishing boat in the middle of nowhere with us?"

"I have to admit it's not what I expected of my life." said Robert. He shrugged. "Anyway, I became King at the age of 9, when my father died, and I reigned for another 12 years in total. And being King of Vanaheim was a pretty boring job. I was 21, and I had never left the vicinity of the palace. I wasn't even allowed outside the grounds unless it was for the purpose of a religious ceremony I had to officiate at, and even then I was always accompanied by a huge retinue of people."        

"So, was it a beautiful palace decorated with silks and jewels and stuff?" said George

"Did you have a golden throne and expensive clothes and loads of jewellery?" asked Marc eagerly. 

"No." Robert sighed again "The castle was a horrible, spiky, black building made of granite. It was very big, very empty, and very draughty. And it was always incredibly cold. They had to keep fires burning permanently in all the most commonly used rooms, to stop us freezing to death. It didn't help much that all the walls were just bare stone, which never seemed to warm up, and there was hardly any furniture in most rooms, so there was nothing to stop the wind. Some of the rooms were really nothing more than caves. Apparently when it was first built it was always full of people, and there used to be dances and   parties, and people would come from miles around just to see the wonder of the palace. But that was in the time of my forefathers, and only a few of the   oldest courtiers claimed to remember this golden age of Vanaheim.

In my experience, Vanaheim was a horrible place. I lived in a mountainous region of the country, where it was always dark and cold. We didn't really have seasons as such that far North, just a cold part of the year and a really cold part of the year. Naturally very few plants grew in those conditions, so the people were hunters. This was a hard job, especially since finding any animals in the mountains meant travelling for days on end, and risking avalanches, frostbite and attack from any of the animals you were trying to hunt. So the greatest men in Vanaheim, the most admired, were the greatest hunters. And pretty much everything revolved around hunting in some way. The songs the minstrels sang, the stories of the elders, the poems they recited in the evenings, they all described a brave hero who killed some huge animal or monster and ended up becoming King. 

The people of the North tended to be strong and violent and pitiless, since these were the most         admired qualities. The peasants in particular spent most of their time outdoors, and thus were well adapted to the weather, being squarely built with rough skin and thick hair. I used to watch them from my window as they prepared for their hunting trips, although I wasn't expected to speak to them personally, being the King. And frankly I don't think I would have wanted to."

"Why not?" asked Marc "They might have been okay when you got to know them."

"They were barbarians." said Robert angrily "They lived like animals, and behaved like them. Nothing but war, pillaging and rape."           

"You didn't pillage and rape did you Robert?" asked George nervously.

"Of course not, I was the King." Robert assured him. George looked more comfortable.

"I had other things to do." Robert continued "Mainly attending sacrifices." George looked less comfortable.

"You didn't kill chickens, did you?" Marc asked, picking up Betsie anxiously.

"Oh yeah" said Robert "Chickens, lambs, boars, bulls, bears. Anything really. And, every now and then, just occasionally, humans."

"Humans!" screamed George, backing away and reaching for anything he could use as a weapon. Marc edged away from Robert, his eyes wide with fear.  

"Calm down. You don't understand." Robert tried to reach out to George, who shrieked and jumped away, nearly falling out of the boat in the process. "I didn't kill anyone." he protested. "Other Kings did, not me. Honestly."

George sat down again, but still looked distinctly nervous. Marc also returned to his place, clutching Betsie fearfully. 

"Did you have to scare me like that?" said George, looking annoyed. "I thought I was trapped on a boat in the middle of nowhere with a crazed serial killer"

"Sorry." said Robert, rather sheepishly. "Sorry Marc."   

" 'S all right" said Marc "I wasn't scared" George began to laugh.

"Well anyway" said Robert "I had to attend a lot of these sacrifices. Non-human sacrifices." He looked pointedly at the other two. "There were sacrifices for everything. For the weather. For luck. For tradition. For prophecies. Often for no reason whatsoever, as far as I could work out. And the worst thing was that as King I was traditionally considered the link between Man and God. Which meant I had to taste the sacrifices."  

"What d'you mean by taste exactly?" asked George suspiciously.

Robert sighed in resignation. "Well, basically I had to drink the blood." He explained, rather reluctantly. "That's what the lipstick symbolises. That's why I wear all the weird make-up. It's because I represent the demons they worshipped."

George and Marc wore looks of puzzled disgust. Robert looked uncomfortable. "It's not that I wanted to." he pointed out "It was tradition."  He shrugged. There was a pause, while George and Marc considered this.

"Well" said George eventually "If it was tradition, I guess it wasn't your fault."  

"Well anyway, it's not important" said Robert hurriedly. "What's important is Fuchsia."   

"Fuchsia? I thought everything was black and dark in Vanaheim." said George.

"Not the colour fuchsia." said Robert angrily "Fuchsia was a person." He looked suddenly sad. 

"Fuchsia was a girl I loved." he said slowly "We were going to get married." He stopped and      began to fiddle with his sleeves.

"What happened?" asked Marc. Robert continued to refold his sleeve pointlessly, his eyes lowered.

"Robert?" said Marc. Robert shrugged his shoulders. There was silence.

"It's not fair" said George, anger rising in his voice. "You said you'd tell your story if I told mine." His voice wavered "You said you'd tell Robert." He began to shake Robert by the arm. "I told you    everything. It's not fair if you don't tell. You can't keep secrets Robert." He began to wheeze      painfully.

"Calm down George" said Marc, attempting to pull him away from Robert. "You'll have another one of those asthma attack things."

"But he has to tell"  said George, with difficulty "I told everything. It's not fair."

"She's dead." said Robert suddenly. His voice sounded heavy and tired. He turned his face away.

George sat down heavily, breathing in a high, panicky way. Marc sat uncomfortably between the. After a while he went into the cabin, and returned with a paper bag, which he handed to George, who breathed into it until his breathing had returned to normal. 

Throughout this Robert remained staring out at sea. Eventually Marc moved next to him and put one arm cautiously around his shoulders. The two sat awkwardly, the silence broken by George's wobbly breaths as he recovered.

The first to speak was Marc. "Robert?" he whispered softly. Robert turned slightly towards him. 

"You're crushing my arm." said Marc apologetically  

Robert stared at him in confusion. Then he began to laugh and cry at the same time. George began to giggle rather breathily. Marc grinned. "And you've cried all over my satin jacket." he added. 

Robert grinned shakily. "Actually" he said, looking serious again "I wrote a song about it. D'you want to hear?" He looked hopeful.

"Sure" said Marc, settling down. Robert picked up his guitar. 

"This is just a little thing I wrote" he explained, looking slightly embarrassed. "It's called "The Drowning Man." And he began to strum the guitar, and then sing:

"She stands twelve feet above the flood

 She stares

 Alone

 Across the water

The loneliness grows and slowly

Fills her frozen body

Sliding downwards

One by one her senses die

The memories fade

And leave her eyes

Still seeing worlds that never were

And one by one the bright birds leave her...

Starting at the violent sound

She tries to turn

But final

Noiseless

Slips and strikes her soft dark head

The water bows

Receives her

And drowns her at it's ease

I would have left the world all bleeding

Could I only help you love

The fleeting shapes

So many years ago

So young and beautiful and brave

Everything was true

It couldn't be a story

I wish it was all true

I wish it couldn't be a story

The worlds all left me

Lifeless

Hoping

Breathing like the drowning man

Oh Fuchsia

You leave me

Breathing like the drowning man

Breathing like the drowning man

That night the three men lay in the small cabin, each wrapped in blankets against the chill night air. Robert lay by the door, his white face peering from among his many layers of blankets, staring wistfully at the moon. The light made his wet eyes glisten softly.

Across the room George shuffled to get comfortable. Marc yawned quietly. Then he softly whispered "Robert?" 

"What?" Robert whispered back, puzzled. At night he usually kept to himself, and discouraged conversation by ignoring it or replying with insults.

"Why don't you sleep over here by the lantern, with me and George? You must be freezing lying by the door all on your own."

Robert hesitated. "It's perfectly safe you know." said George, grinning "We won't bite."

Robert carefully edged slightly closer to the other two. He hesitated, then shuffled a little closer. He room was silent.

"Robert." whispered Marc.

"Yeah?"

"It was a good story."

"Thanks" Robert hesitated. "Goodnight then" he said, rather uncertainly. 

" 'Night"

" 'Night"

In the darkness, Robert smiled.

Chapter 5 — On the Third Day

George sat at the front of the small boat, watching  the approaching fog nervously. It was their last day of clear sailing and he was getting worried. Robert was, naturally, hiding in the cabin. Marc was also inside, since the weather was getting steadily worse as the boat approached the fog.

Eventually George rose and struggled against the wind to reach the cabin. Once he had climbed     inside it took several minutes to force the door closed, since the wind was inconveniently blowing in exactly the right direction to hold it open. 

"I was thinking" he said, as he sat down. "Maybe we should turn back"

"That's gonna be hard, with a wind like this" Robert pointed out.

"I know, but it seems stupid to just keep sailing when we don't know where we're going."

"Well there's nothing we can do about it now." said Robert "If the wind dies down tomorrow we can think about it then."

"I guess." said George reluctantly. "But I can't help worrying about it."

"Well we could take our minds off it by listening to the end of Robert's story" suggested Marc "He never explained how he got to Rarn." 

"Not much to say really" said Robert dismissively "I couldn't stand the castle any more after ...everything. Y'know."  He hesitated. George and Marc did their best to look understanding and      sympathetic.

"So anyway, I decided to go exploring. I thought maybe I should do something I could be                  remembered for, as a King, and it got me away from Vanaheim. So I got a fleet of ships ready and sailed away to explore and, I dunno, conquer places or something. You know, King stuff." He shrugged dismissively. "But I guess I wasn't very good at it, or I chose bad sailors or something, 'cause we only got as far as the North-West coast before we were wrecked. I'm not really sure how, I never understood sailing really.

It turned out that the sailors weren't terribly loyal to their King when their lives were at stake. In fact, they refused me a place in the lifeboat, stole a lot of my expensive things and threw me into the sea. Which was lucky really, because the boat was overloaded, firstly with all the things they had stolen from me and secondly because they insisted on all travelling in the one boat, since none of them were willing to be separated from the valuables.

They were wrecked about forty minutes after they left the ship. I could only see them from a distance, where I was hiding behind some rocks in case of further treachery, but I was near enough to see them sinking lower and lower in the water, and bickering over who they should throw out. But before they could reach an agreement a particularly large wave hit them, and the weight of all the people and cargo sliding to one side overturned the boat. 

Well, I waited to see what would happen, and after about fifteen minutes the screaming seemed to have stopped. So I swam over and climbed on top of the boat. I tried to turn it over but it was too heavy, so I just clung on and waited. Well, it drifted off, rather unsteadily, and I stayed where I was for hours and hours. And then eventually I saw land. I waited until it was close enough, and then I swam until I reached the shore."

"Were all the sailors drowned?" asked Marc fearfully. Robert shook his head.

"When I swam over I saw two of them fighting over a chest of mine. The older man was trying to rip the younger one's eyes out, and the younger was covering the older one's mouth, to smother him I think. I guess they thought it was treasure."

"Why? What was it?"  asked George

"Just papers. And not even that, it had been in the water so long. Just paper mush."

"So none of them got any treasure then?" said Marc. Robert considered.

"Depends how you look at it. I did see one man, tangled in some rocks, all covered in blood and salt water, screaming about diamonds. I think he had some piece of jewellery of mine." Robert shrugged. "He sounded happy anyway, in between the screams of pain."

"Poor man." said Marc sadly. Robert looked annoyed. "What d'you mean poor man?He tried to kill me."

"But still" said Marc "You must feel a little pity for him."

"Not really" said Robert "More for the old man and the young man fighting over the chest."   

"I don't see why." said George "They died through their own stupidity. They could have shared the money and lived."

"Well, it's not exactly pity." said Robert thoughtfully "Closer to fear, or disgust, or something like that." The other two looked less than convinced. Robert tried to elaborate. "See, I'm not sure, I didn't know the sailors very well, but I think that the two men were father and son."

George and Marc looked shocked. "Are you sure?" asked George hopefully. "You could easily have made a mistake"

"Maybe." said Robert. "They were defiantly friends at least. And I'm pretty sure...but what does it matter anyway? It's got nothing to do with my story. 

So anyway, after the wreck I swam ashore at the coast of Rarn, although obviously I didn't know that then. I couldn't see any houses around, but there was a road... well a track really. So I followed it hoping to find someone. And I walked and walked until I collapsed. And then George found me. And that's it really. Nothing exciting."

"I think it was a brilliant story." said Marc "You should write a book Robert. One with me in it." Robert rolled his eyes.

"Well at least it sort of explains the dislike of light." said George "If Vanaheim was such a dark place. But I still think you're making a fuss."

"It's not that simple." objected Robert "My eyes aren't used to light, so they adapt to it slowly.          Although I guess I make it worse by always insisting on complete darkness. If I spent more time in half-light I suppose I'd gradually get used to full light."

"It has been getting better during this journey though." admitted George "I've seen you sit out in the dusk loads of times."

Robert nodded "Well, it's hard to avoid the light entirely on a boat." He said.

"What about that weird singing thing?" interrupted Marc. "How come you can do that? Are you a wizard?" He looked hopeful.

"No, 'course not" laughed Robert "It's hereditary. There's a story that the Royal Family of Vanaheim is descended from a God, who gave the mortal woman he loved the power, as well as the kingdom."

Marc appeared satisfied by this explanation, although George looked doubtful. "So, are you saying you're descended form a God?" he asked.

"Obviously not. That's just a story."

"So how come you can do that singing thing?"

Robert shrugged. "Who knows. Maybe it is magic. They say in the old days there were hundreds of    wizards and fairies and sorceresses who could cast spells and stuff. Maybe it's true."

"Don't be ridiculous. They're just fairy stories."

"Well I believe them." said Marc. "There wouldn't be so many stories if some of it wasn't true. I'd love to meet fairies. Although who I really want to meet is elves." He sighed. "Although I don't suppose I ever will, because no one meets elves unless the elves want to meet them."  George shook his head, but declined to comment.

"Anyway, isn't it your turn to tell your story Marc?" said Robert.

"First tell about how I arrived the cottage." said Marc "Then I'll tell my story."

"But we all know how you arrived at the cottage." objected Robert "We were all there."

"Yeah, but I want to hear it from your point of view" explained Marc "I like a story told properly. So, how long had you been at the cottage before I arrived? 

"About three, maybe four months." said Robert "Not long, but I'd got settled. I remember it was a really horrible stormy night, and George and I were toasting marshmallows in the fire when you knocked."

"Oh yeah" George nodded "I was eating the pink ones and you were eating the white ones. And we were arguing about who got the toasting fork." 

"And you wouldn't answer the door 'cause you said it was just the wind blowing the tree's branches." said Robert "You are so lazy."

"Well you wouldn't answer it either" George pointed out. "And how was I supposed to know it wasn't the trees? I mean, no one ever knocked at the cottage. I wasn't expecting it. And I seem to remember it was me who answered it in the end   anyway."

"Only because I threatened your life." objected Robert

George ignored him and turned to Marc. "I thought at first you were a villager who'd got lost" he said "But I realised almost immediately you weren't from Rarn."

"What gave it away?" asked Marc

"None of the villagers ever wore glitter eye-shadow" said George

"So anyway" said Robert "Are you gonna tell us your story now?"

"Sure" said Marc

Chapter 6 — Marc's Story

"I am originally form the South" began Marc "But I'm not a King, or a Royal courtier or anything interesting like that, like you guys. We don't even have a Royal Family where I come from?"

"But who decides what happens in the country, if there's no King?" asked Robert.

"A democratically elected Parliament." said Marc.

"Oh yeah, and I bet that works." muttered George. "Democratically elected Parliament.      Honestly." Marc frowned at him.

"Anyway, I think the best way of telling you my story is to sing you a song I wrote" he said "It's in third person, but it's about me really" He picked up his guitar and began to strum it, and then sing:

"Prince of Players, Pawn of none

 Born with steel reins on the heart of the sun

 Gipsy explorer of the New Jersey heights

 Exalted companion of cocaine nights

'Cause he's a Dandy in the Underworld

Dandy in the Underworld

When will he come up for air?

Will anybody ever care?

At an old eighteen exiled he was

To the deserted kingdoms of a mythical Oz

Distraction he wanted, to destruction he fell

Now he forever stalks the ancient mansions of hell

'Cause he's a Dandy in the Underworld

Dandy in the Underworld

When will he come up for air?

Will anybody ever care?

Now his lovers have left him, and his youth's ill spent

He cries in the dungeon and tries to repent

But change is a monster, and changing is hard

So he'll freeze away his summers

In his underground yard

'Cause he's a Dandy in the Underworld

Dandy in the Underworld

When will he come up for air?

Will anybody ever care?

"I'm guessing some of that was metaphorical." said Robert. "Unless you're actually claiming to have been born in the sun."

"Yeah, that's just something they say about Southerners" said Marc "'Cause of the way we can walk through fire. But I thought I used it in a very meaningful way." 

"Is that anything to do with the way you always refuse to sit facing the sun?" asked George. Marc nodded. 

"Yeah, you see, I can look at the sun without blinking, or squinting or anything, and I tend to do it by accident and unnerve people who aren't from the south" explained Marc "It's kind of related to the walking through fire thing. Fire and stuff just doesn't bother us."

"Yeah, but how can you walk through it and stuff?" asked George "It doesn't make any sense."

Marc shrugged. "I don't know really. You'd have to ask the scientists. They were always doing tests and stuff on everything, including fire resistance. Personally I never understood a word they said. The generally accepted reason was that since it was so hot in the south, we just sort of evolved like that."

"That's ridiculous." objected Robert "How can you just evolve some kind of magical fire resistance?" He laughed "It doesn't make any sense."

"Oh shut up" said Marc, pushing him "It's no stupider than you saying that the gods gave you your power."

"That story has been handed down for generations." said Robert indignantly "And don't push me"

"I said shut up" said Marc "I'm trying to tell a story. Anyway, I wasn't Royal or anything, as I said, but I had enough money to live by. And I was young. So I spent most of my time hanging around with the other kids, dressing up and making music and stuff. It was just a laugh really, but we had fun. There was a group of us who were always trying to outdo each other with more flamboyant and weird clothes and more popular songs. But it was kinda friendly competition really. 

Anyway, life was a gas. I spent all my time falling in love with one person or another, writing songs, going to parties, playing gigs…" he sighed wistfully "I had a great time. Not only as a singer. I did acting and modelling too, and I wrote poems all the time.  

I know it couldn't have gone on forever. I mean, I was only a kid messing around really. I expected that one day I'd have to grow up, and decide what I wanted to do properly, and be responsible and stuff. But I never thought it'd end like it did."

"How did it end?" asked George, who was listening and hemming a pair of trousers at the same time.

"I told you in the song" said Marc impatiently "I was exiled"

"What for, your dress sense?" interrupted Robert, laughing.

"Shut up" Marc shouted "I took your stupid story seriously"

"What d'you mean, stupid story?" Robert screamed. "That was my life. Right, that's it." He rolled up his sleeves. "I'm gonna teach you"   

"Oooh, what are you going to do you big, nasty man" squeaked Marc in a mocking falsetto "You won't hurt wittle me will you?"

"You won't think it's funny when I've beaten you to a bloody pulp." threatened Robert, rather           unconvincingly.    

Marc began to laugh, but was quickly stopped by Robert punching him in the mouth. He screamed in pain, and hit Robert with the lantern he was holding. The glass side broke, and a small chip of it flew into George's left index finger. He would have complained, but he felt his situation was less serious than that of Robert, who had been set on fire by the lantern and was running around shrieking.

"Stop running" screamed George "You'll set the boat on fire and kill us all." Robert appeared not to hear this, and continued shrieking in terror. He was only calmed when Marc returned from deck and threw a bucket of seawater over him.

Robert collapsed onto the cabin floor making small moans of pain. George glared in annoyance over the edge of the paper bag he was breathing into and Marc jumped around trying simultaneously to put out the few remaining flames smouldering in Robert's clothes, mop up the blood from his split lip and apologise to Robert repeatedly.      
  


George's breathing finally returned to normal, allowing him to shout at the other two "For Gods' sake, that's my second asthma attack in two days. Are you two trying to kill me?"

"Don't blame us" said Robert "If you hadn't spent so much time smoking opium I bet your asthma wouldn't be half as bad."

"I take it you weren't seriously hurt then?" said George grumpily.

"No, but look at the state of this shirt" Robert plucked at the black edged tatters of cloth.

"Well at least it was a horrible shirt." Marc said cheerfully.

"I liked this shirt" said Robert sulkily.

"Oh sorry" said Marc, looking embarrassed "It's, er, quite nice really. I mean, when you look at it properly. Not that it looks bad on you if you don't look properly, I just mean…"  He paused "I'll shut up now then."

Robert, who had been ignoring him and trying to peel the strips of burnt shirt off himself, sighed. "Have we got any ointment or anything?" he asked.

George shrugged. "I could try and make some, but we haven't really got any ingredients. Is it bad?" He reached forward to touch one of the burns.

"Get off" said Robert angrily, moving back "It's not so bad. It'll heal."

Marc looked sheepish. "I'm really sorry Robert." He said, patting his forearm. Robert shuddered in pain. "Oh sorry" Marc patted Robert's right foot, which was the nearest unburnt thing to him. " I didn't mean to burn you, I just didn't think."

Robert, who was now having cold water poured over him by George, looked up at the anxious Marc. "Yeah, sorry for punching you." he said, rather  grudgingly "And sorry about your lip."

" 'S all right"  said Marc "I'll go help George with the ointment."

Later that evening the three men sat in the cabin. Robert glistened with ointment in the lamplight as he examined his burns. George was crossing off from the inventory the items eaten at that night's dinner, and looking worried. Marc sat cross-legged in the corner trying unsuccessfully to brush his hair with a soft-bristled brush George had lent him, and absently sucking the cut on his lip.

George sighed and put the list down, looking serious. "Well" he said "It looks like it's bran mash for dinner tomorrow." 

"But that's ridiculous" said Robert sulkily "I mean, for a start you can't even digest bran mash         properly."

"Well, we could kill one of the chickens." Suggested George "Kitty Hen hasn't been laying well for a while."

"Great. I'll kill her tomorrow if I can move my arms enough to swing the axe" said Robert, looking more cheerful.

George shuddered. "Don't you mind slaughtering Kitty, just a little? He asked. 

Robert shrugged. "It's only a chicken." he pointed out.

They were interrupted by Marc throwing the hair brush violently across the cabin. "Having difficulty?" said Robert, rather smugly.

"Oh shut up" Marc threw himself sulkily onto the floor "I've never once seen you even try to brush you hair."

"Oh for Gods' sake don't start another argument" said George.

"But I'm bored" moaned Marc, kicking the floor of the cabin petulantly.

"Well why don't you finish off your story from before?" suggested George "You didn't explain what happened after you were exiled." As he spoke he rummaged through his sewing basket, selected a sock with a hole in the toe and then began to thread a darning needle. 

"Well" said Marc, settling down "I was exiled to a horrible little island off the South coast. I had to live in this tiny underground room, like a prison." He shuddered at the memory. "It was a really small island, with only about four trees, 'cause it was so hot. Occasionally they brought prisoners who weren't natives of the South, and they usually got heatstroke after about three or four days. And the sunburn was terrible. They ended up actually burning off so many layers of skin that they bled." He frowned "I'm really glad that doesn't happen to me.

I lived on the island with all the other prisoners for about two years. By that time I'd got quite used to it really, although I did miss all my friends. The worst thing was that some nights, when the wind was blowing in the right direction, you could hear music from the mainland. It was like being the only person not invited to a party, but living close enough to hear everyone having fun. 

Well, eventually one day the officials decided to move me and some other prisoners. I wasn't told why, because as I was exiled I was no longer a citizen, and had no rights. The Governor of the island did sometimes let a little information slip, since I was kind of a friend of a friend. He knew this guy I kinda knew, called David. But this time he told me nothing.

Being prisoners, we got the cheapest boats possible, and the cheapest equipment. The boats were all roped together, with guards in every second or third, to stop us escaping. But a storm came up, and some of the chain were wrecked on the rocks around the coast. Also, a lot of the ropes got caught in the rocks and snapped. The boat I was sharing with five other guys was swept away from the others, and carried off westwards. The sea was terribly rough, and I was afraid of being washed overboard, so I crawled between the bench and some of the luggage, where I was safer. Some of the other guys hid too, and others tried to steer the boat, even though it was impossible in those conditions.

I guess I must have fainted, or been knocked unconscious or something, 'cause I don't remember what happened after that. When I woke up the boat was still, and everything was quiet. When I pushed the chests aside and crawled out I found I was all alone in calm, fairly shallow water, a few miles from a coast. The other five had disappeared, and so had the oars and the lantern. I suppose they were washed overboard and drowned, or tried to swim for it. Maybe some of them managed it , and perhaps landed at Rarn, but I never heard anything of them. But then I guess I wouldn't. They were criminals, so they'd be hiding presumably.

Well anyway, I looked through the luggage and found a sheet, which I made into a sail. It was quite difficult, but eventually I managed to sail in the general direction of land. I landed eventually in a bay by a forest. Then got my belongings out, and walked and walked, looking for help. But there was none."

"Until you found us." said George, with satisfaction.

"Exactly" said Marc "So here I am."  

"So I'm the only one of us who's not a fugitive from the law" said Robert. Then he frowned. "Hang on, what exactly did you get exiled for?"

"Well, there was the cocaine business, and y'know, stuff." said Marc, shrugging.  

"Have you got anything from the South you kept as a memento, like I saved my necklace?" asked George.

"Well, I have got one thing, I suppose." said Marc "Hang on, I'll get it." H hurried over to his chest, in the corner of the cabin, and rummaged around inside. Then he pulled out a smaller box and carried it over."

"It's really pretty" said George, running his fingers over the carved surface "What's it made of?"

"Cedar" said Marc "With velvet lining."

"It smells really strange." said Robert, wrinkling up his nose

"Yeah, it's scented with spices" said Marc "There are loads of spices and stuff in the South." He unlatched the small silver clasp, opened the chest and carefully removed its contents. It was a black mask, made to cover the upper part of the face. Attached to one side was a long, white handle shaped like a claw. The mask itself was of an ugly horned creature.

"What's it made of?" asked Robert, touching it gingerly 

"Metal" said Marc. "Except for the handle. That's human bone." Robert looked impressed. George looked disgusted.

"It's for wearing at masquerade balls" said Marc. He placed it carefully back in the box.

"It's a shame you didn't keep anything special from Vanaheim Robert" said George.

"Well maybe I did, but I didn't want to tell you." said Robert, in an unnecessarily grumpy manner.              

"Well did you or didn't you?" asked George.

"Yes actually" said Robert coldly.

"Ooh, show me, show me, show me." said George excitedly. 

Robert sighed and went over to his own chest. From within it he produced a small piece of rough, black cloth, tied up with string to form a bag. He untied this string, and unfolded the cloth to reveal a small silver locket on a chain.

"It's lovely." said George "Why don't you wear it?"

"I don't want to break it." said Robert, lifting it up gently by the chain. The small shining oval of metal spun slowly.

"Who's in it?"  asked Marc

"No one" replied Robert, opening it carefully and holding it out to the others. Inside was nothing but a tiny golden key.

"What's it the key to?" George asked.

"I don't know" Robert turned the key over with the tip of his forefinger "Fuchsia gave me it. She said she'd found it somewhere, but she couldn't find anything it opened. So she gave it to me. She said maybe I'd find something it fitted." He sighed deeply. "That was the way she thought." he explained "She thought every key had a lock."

"So it doesn't fit anything then?" asked Marc. Robert shook his head.

"How depressing." said George "Thanks a lot Robert."

As he spoke a sudden chill descended on the boat, and a cold wind swept through the open window and blew out the fire. The smoke drifted upward and mingled with the air, which had become strangely think and grey. George began to breath strangely, and looked around for a paper bag.

"What's going...on." wheezed Robert with difficulty, feeling like he was trying to breath cotton wool.

Marc crossed over to the window and stared out into the misty air. Then he sat down unsteadily. "I think we've...entered..." he choked, and then continued "...the fog."   


	4. Part 4

Chapter 1— Entering the Fog 

 A few weak rays of sun struggled onto the deck of the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon. The three men had been attempting to steer the boat out of the fog, but had by now given up, and were all lying on deck miserably. They had by this time got used to the thick wet air to a certain extent, but it was still difficult to move for any length of time without getting out of breath. Consequently they had given up their attempts at steering fairly quickly.

            "Who's stupid idea was it to sail this way?" said Robert irritably.

            "Marc's" said George immediately.

            "Well you agreed" Marc replied angrily.

            "Didn't" said George

            "Did"

            "Didn't"

            "Oh shut up." screamed Robert. There was silence as the three regained their breath.

            "Well we've got up to three days." said George "We can lay here, gather our strength and then turn around."

            "And go where?" said Robert "We might as well just keep going, we're outcasts. It doesn't matter if we all die." He paused, and added thoughtfully "That'd be a good line in a song"

            A few minutes later he was leaning against the cabin strumming his guitar and singing a particularly depressing composition. George lay in a sad and crumpled heap on the deck, and tried unsuccessfully to see more than a few metres ahead of him through the thick fog. Marc trailed his hand sadly in the water as he hung dejectedly over the side of the boat. The grey waves washed pointlessly against his hand as the boat floated on under the heavy air. 

Chapter 2 — Relighting the Fire

Robert sat wrapped in several thick blankets, wearing as many layers of clothes as he could manage at once, but the air was still bitingly cold, even to someone as used to low temperature as himself. It was as if the wind, rather than blowing over the boat, had simply remained hovering above them, chilling the air below any normal level. He watched the icy cloud of his breath spread slowly into the air, before returning to freeze his lungs. He managed with an effort to turn his head to face the huddled forms of George, his tears frozen to his mascara covered eyelashes, and Marc, his head resting weakly against the cabin wall.

            It was Marc who eventually broke the silence, his voice quivering. "I'm really sorry." he said weakly "I didn't know it would be like this."

            "One of us will have to light the fire again." said George "Or we'll all die.

            There was a sudden ripping sound as Marc lifted his face away from the wall to which it had been frozen. "I'll do it" he said, "This is my fault" He struggled forward and began to light the tinderbox. George watched sadly. Robert pushed the pile of wood slightly closer to Marc with his foot, and then gave up.

Eventually a fire was burning. The three men struggled to gather around it and attempted to get some feeling back into their hands and feet, as well as all the rest of their bodies. This done they decided to take some positive action, and prepare supper.

…………………………….…………………………….…………………………….

"I don't understand it" said Robert "I know it's really cold, and the air is really terrible, but we shouldn't be this tired."

            "Yeah, there's something really weird about it." agreed George

            Marc lifted his hand from the fire and passed George the piece of toast he was holding. George devoured it immediately.

            "Lucky we found out about your ability to repel fire really." he said "Since we forgot the toasting fork."

            "It's all very well for you." said Marc "It's not your arm getting cramp."

            "Well, that's the last of the bread anyway." said Robert "Three slices each." He turned to George. "So, what've we got left?"

            George turned the pages of the inventory clumsily, due to his numbed hands. "Half a sack of grain, a few funny looking carrots, and the chickens, plus any eggs they might lay."

            "You want me to kill a chicken now, while I have the energy?" asked Robert.    

            "No need." said George "They've probably pretty much frozen to death."

            "Betsy!" Marc gasped, looking around anxiously. Robert held her up by one leg and shook her experimentally. She flopped limply, her feathers crisp.

            "I don't know much about chickens, I admit." said Robert "But I'm pretty sure it's dead."

            "Poor little chicken" said George sadly. "Lets cook it. Hurry Robert."

            Marc sighed. "Couldn't you cook one of the other chickens?"

            "Whatever." said Robert, reaching for the nearest of the frozen bodies.

            There was a silence in the cabin. "Well" said Robert "Only another two days and we'll be dead." No one had the energy to reply.

Chapter 3 — The Fire is Almost Out

As far could be calculated in their state of permanent semi-darkness it was the second day since the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon had entered the fog. The fire had been burning since they had lit it the day before, and Marc was feeding it with what little remained of the wood. Robert was being less than helpful by singing "The fire is almost out and there's nothing left to burn" and strumming along on his guitar.   

            George sat sadly by the window looking worried. "I can definitely see shapes." he said "Sort of in the air and the sea. But I can't see what they are 'cause they keep moving."

            Marc joined him at the window. "He's right" he called back to Robert. "They're horrible." He shuddered. "I wish we weren't here."

            "I don't want to know." moaned Robert, sinking inside his blankets "Come away from the window before you freeze to death."

            "But we're going to anyway" pointed out George logically "There's no point in making it last longer than we have to."  But he moved back inside the cabin and flopped limply to the floor. Marc struggled back over to the fire, his limbs heavy and unwieldy.

            The cabin was by this time slowly filling up with fog, which leaked through the gaps between the boards even when the window was kept shut. The three were again having trouble breathing.

            "I'm so tired." said Robert "I might as well just give up now and freeze to death. It'd be easier." There was a discouraging lack of attempts to persuade him not to let himself die.     

            "Well I can't stay awake any longer" said George "I'm gonna have to go to sleep, even if I am taking a chance on whether or not I'll wake up."

            Marc dragged himself into a sitting position. "Come on. Sit up and stay awake. You never know, we might make it." He said hopefully.

            "What makes you so cheerful in the face of death?" asked Robert.

            "I'm not cheerful." said Marc. "I'm scared."

            "Me too" said George quietly. 

            Robert sighed "Yeah, so am I" he admitted.

            "Well if we're going to stay awake" said George "Perhaps we should sing. That's what people usually do in this kind of situation."

            "Sure" Robert shrugged "What're we singing?"

            "Remember that song I sang to you, Karma Chameleon?" said George "That's pretty lively. What's your most lively song Robert?"

            "Lovecats, I guess." said Robert "What about you Marc?"

            "Twentieth Century Boy's good to sing." suggested Marc.

            "Okay, we'll sing them in order." said George "Ready?"

            And so for the first, and possibly last time ever the voices of Boy George, Robert Smith and Marc Bolan sang together. George's higher voice mingled with Robert's low moan and Marc's strange bleating. As the boat sailed across the darkened sea the fog deepened and the cold increased. And slowly the three voices wavered and weakened until they were just hoarse whispers. And the whispers grew quieter until there was no sound but silence.

Chapter 4 — Breathless

The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon ploughed aimlessly through the almost solid water. It was surrounded by thick grey waves of mist which seemed to almost weigh it down in the water. The deck was empty, and unendingly grey. The rudder, unmanned, hung loosely in the dull water.  

            Inside the cabin all was silent and still. The wheezing of George's breath, the muttered sighs of the sleeping Robert and the slow crying of Marc had long died out. George lay on his side, his kohl-lined eyes wide open but sightless. Robert had curled himself into a ball, his arms wrapped around himself. The fog curled around him, but he could no longer feel the cold. Marc's face glistened with ice, which mingled with his blue glitter and brought a hint of colour to his white face. Nothing moved but the coils of mist. The boat sailed on through the darkening waters.


	5. Part 5

Chapter 1 — Land!

Blood ran through Robert's fingers and toes, and his fingertips prickled. He moved them slowly, becoming accustomed again to the  sensation of feeling. This feeling spread to his limbs, which he discovered were very cramped. He stretched each arm and leg in turn, flinching in pain. 

Suddenly it occurred to him what was wrong, at about the same time as he consciously knew that anything was wrong in the first place. The boat was no longer moving. It was static, if a little precariously balanced, tilted as it was to one side. And in the background he could hear the faint sound of waves breaking. 

He jumped up, and immediately fell over again, his head spinning. Struggling to his knees he croaked through dry lips "Land! Land!", his voice thick and indistinct. He managed one final cry of "land!" before he saw them. They had been thrown to one side of the boat by the slope, where they lay in horrible, lifeless heaps. One of Marc's hands was flung towards Robert, pale and bloodless. George lay on his side, a single eye staring up at Robert without expression.    

A sudden wave of fear rushed over Robert. He hurried to the door and was outside gasping for air before he realised he was standing in full daylight. He returned to the cabin hastily feeling, despite the     circumstances, rather proud of himself.

The feeling soon evaporated once he was inside. He began to feel sick, and tears formed in his eyes. "What should I do? What should I do?" he muttered, and then immediately felt uncomfortable for breaking the silence.

Eventually he knelt down and leant carefully towards the two figures. He reached forward and touched Marc's hand gingerly. It twitched. Robert leapt back. Then he was filled with a second with hope, before he remembered that corpses often twitched after death. Having actually thought of them as corpses he felt even worse. He sat back and stared at them both sadly. 

It seemed right that he should lay out the two of them properly, and presumably prepare a cremation or a burial or something of the kind. So he again approached them, resolving to be less cowardly this time. 

After initial hesitation he managed to block his mind to the reality of the task at hand, and began attempting to move George, desperately trying not to think of who and what he was lifting. 

He was just shifting George's weight into his arms when there was a sudden strange guttural moan from behind him. He leapt away, dropping George unceremoniously to the floor in the process, before he realised what had happened. He had been accidentally leaning on Marc's chest while lifting George, and Marc had choked. 

Robert was suddenly filled with happiness. He rushed forward and began to shake Marc, who opened his eyes and squinted around, looking     confused.

            "Marc? Can you hear me?" asked Robert anxiously.

            "Yeah." replied Marc dizzily "Hi George."

            "No, I'm not George, I'm Robert"  he said soothingly "Now just lie down…" 

            "I know who you are for Gods' sake. George is behind you."

Robert jumped around. "Did someone drop me on my head?" asked George, who was sitting up looking annoyed. "I think I've got a bruise."

Robert leapt up and screamed with joy. Then he began to laugh hysterically.

            "What's got into you?" asked George, rubbing the bump on his forehead.

            "I'm alive! We're all alive!" screamed Robert, dancing around the cabin. "Everyone's alive" He paused and hugged Marc happily. "Don't ever be dead again."

Marc stared at Robert in confusion, and then looked at George questioningly. George shrugged, and watched, puzzled, as Robert capered around the boat. "God only knows." he said.

Chapter 2—Exploration.

Once Robert had calmed down the three men decided to explore their new surroundings. In keeping with this resolution they all agreed to dress for exploration.

Fifteen minutes later Robert stood on deck shading his eyes and looking around at the beach on which they had landed. He wore black trousers, a baggy black jumper with holes in it over a large white shirt, and oversized white trainers. He had reapplied his black eye-shadow and red lipstick, and chosen one of his favourite black necklaces.

George emerged form the cabin wearing white leggings with weird prints on them and a very large matching tee-shirt, which he had belted tightly around his waist. On his feet were white pumps, and a straw hat shaded his eyes. He also wore pink lipstick, and a lot of eye-shadow and blusher.

"Couldn't you have worn something a bit tougher, or warmer, or more waterproof?" said Robert "We don't know what this country's like yet. You should be prepared for anything."

"Don't be so boring" said George, slipping a massive bangle collection onto each arm. "Now, which earrings look best—dangly or loopy?"

Robert sighed. Marc appeared on deck wearing extremely tight blue jeans, a very small tee-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and trainers. He also wore lip-gloss and glittery eye-shadow. Robert shook his head.  

"It's pretty hot here, isn't it" said Marc, looking around the empty beach unenthusiastically.

"Yeah, just imagine how bad it is for those of us who are bothering to wear any clothes." said Robert. Marc looked annoyed.

"He's already whinged at me." said George "Said I wasn't being "practical"."

"Well you should be more sensible" said Robert "I mean, can you even bend down in those jeans Marc?"

"Why would I need to?" asked Marc, frowning.

"Well I don't know." said Robert, looking irritated. "We might have to climb or crawl or something later. You never know."

Marc shrugged. "Fine" said Robert grumpily "If you two really want to dress like that it's no concern of mine." 

"So where are we going then?" asked George. "There doesn't seem to be much here."

"Well I thought we could walk over the sand dunes, and check the rest of the country other than the beach before we make any judgements." said Robert, rather meanly. "Come on."              

The sand dunes turned out to lead to more, higher sand dunes. George led the group across these, Marc and Robert followed.

"You've got holes in your jeans Marc." said Robert smugly as they walked.

"I know. They're supposed to look like that." sighed Marc.

"Well they look stupid." said Robert grumpily. "And will you stop your stupid plaits blowing in my face George" He pushed George angrily. "It's really annoying"

"They aren't plaits. They're dreadlocks actually." said George. "And don't push me." He pushed Robert back. Robert glared at him.

Fortunately the group reached the top of the highest row of dunes at this point, and were distracted from their arguments by the view of the country ahead. In the distance was a huge hill, on top of which sat a tall, gothic castle, with spiked turrets and sharp corners. Surrounding the castle, reaching right to the base of the hill and spreading onto the surrounding land was an enormous maze, its convoluted pathways twisting in endless patterns. The maze ended in a tall wall, built like all that could be seen of the rest of the maze with sandstone blocks. Between this wall and the hill on which the three men stood was about half a mile of flat, dusty ground, to which a few small bushes clung desperately.

"Wow." said Robert, leaning on a leafless and spiky tree which had so far managed to withstand the hostile wind. "That's a pretty complicated maze."    

"It's too big for a maze." said George, blinking as sand blew rather painfully in his face. "It's more of a labyrinth."

"Funny." said Marc "This really reminds me of a picture book I had when I was little. It was very popular in the South..." But George was already running excitedly down the hill towards the gates of the labyrinth. Robert followed him unenthusiastically. Marc trailed behind them, still thinking of his book.

Once George reached the gates, which were about twice his height, he pushed them with all his strength. They didn't move. He stood back, out of breath. Robert, who had just caught up with him, walked towards them calmly. They swung open immediately, apparently of their own volition. 

"They could have said they were automatic." grumbled George as he followed Robert inside and looked around. There was one passageway to the left, and one to the right, the walls smooth and high. They appeared to have no end, and for that matter no junctions or alternative routes.

"This isn't a labyrinth," he said sulkily. "There aren't any turns or any corners or anything."  

He was interrupted by the gates banging shut behind him. "Marc! What did you shut the gates for?" asked Robert angrily. "They might not open from this side, and we'll be stuck."

"I didn't shut them." said Marc "They just closed behind me." 

George approached the doors cautiously, pushed them tentatively and then, angered by their immobility, began to throw himself against them. They didn't move.

            "Great." said Robert "Magic doors. Now we're trapped."

            "This was in the book too." said Marc thoughtfully.

            "You might have mentioned that before we came in." said Robert.

George gave up throwing himself against the doors and instead threw himself against the wall and sighed peevishly. He jumped away again almost immediately shrieking "Ew! There's things growing on this wall with eyes. Look." Robert began to look  nervous as he examined the stalks, each with an  eyeball on the end, which moved to follow the three men as they changed position.

Marc meanwhile was holding his hands in front of himself and walking carefully and deliberately into walls.

            "What's he doing?"  George whispered to Robert.

            "I have no idea." said Robert. "Marc? Are you all right?"

            "Yeah thanks" said Marc absently, continuing to walk slowly into different areas of wall.

            Robert shrugged and turned back to George. "Probably some idea he got from a book. So. Left or right?

            "Well, right would be the right way, but then that's what they'd expect us to do, so we should go left. But maybe they'd expect that to." He frowned and looked confused. "So maybe we should go the other way, right? Not right, I mean right! Or was it right?" He paused, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

            "George?" said Robert nervously. 

            "What?"

            "Where's Marc?"

            George looked worriedly along the two empty, endless pathways. There was no sign of Marc whatsoever.

            "Marc?" he called, his voice small in the silence.

            "Yeah?" said Marc, from just behind George's head. George shrieked and jumped forward. Behind him Marc's head appeared floating in mid air.

            "Hurry up" he said "I've found a secret passage."

            "Yeah, but did you have to give me a heart attack as well?" grumbled George, as he and Robert followed Marc into the labyrinth.   

Chapter 3 — Inside the Labyrinth          

George, Robert and Marc wandered aimlessly among endless interlocking walls and hedges. They were getting nowhere.

            "I don't suppose" said Robert, glaring at the dead end he had just reached "that this book told you how to get out of the labyrinth?"   

            Marc looked thoughtful. "Yeah, sort of" he said, rather doubtfully "The girl in it had to get to the castle in the centre and defeat Jareth the Goblin King."

            "Goblin King?" said George nervously "Is he repulsively ugly with warts and stuff?"

            "Oh no." said Marc. "He looked like a human." George looked relieved.

            "The goblins on the other hand…" continued Marc

            "This girl." said Robert cautiously. "She won, right?"

            "Oh yeah." said Marc, nodding. "But she was the only one. Everyone else who had been in the labyrinth died, I think." 

            "Great" said Robert "So we're just the incidental characters in a Fairy Story."

            "Don't be stupid." said George "This is real life, not a fairy story. We'll be fine."

            "I wonder." said Marc absently "if we could get on top of the wall?"

A few minutes later Robert was leaning against one of the rough sandstone walls while Marc stood on his back struggling to lift George up.

            "Could you please hurry." he asked, with great difficulty. "I can't breath."

            "Hang on" said Marc "Nearly there. Just move that way a bit."

            "What way?" asked Robert "I can't see where you're pointing, idiot."

            "Oh yeah, sorry." said Marc "Left. Okay, now right a bit. Okay, now…" At this point he broke off, as he was falling towards the ground 

quite rapidly.

Robert straightened up. "Thank the Gods." he said, feeling his spine worriedly. "I think it's okay. You all right Marc?"

            "Yeah, just bruised." said Marc, brushing the dust from himself.

            "I don't suppose I could have a little help?"  interrupted George. He was half on top of the wall, his legs swinging around desperately.

Robert and Marc took hold of a foot each and pushed. George nearly fell over the wall entirely, but recovered and struggled into a sitting position.

Once he got his breath back he lifted Robert onto the wall with Marc's help. Robert made almost no effort to climb, and instead hung like a sack and muttered about the pain in his back. When he reached the top he and George assisted Marc as he scrambled awkwardly up the wall after them.

A few minutes later the three men were leaping from wall to hedge to wall, clumsily but quickly making their uncertain way to the castle of the Goblin King.

Chapter 4 — The Goblin City

Several hours, many rests and seven falls later the three men finally reached a high stone wall. Behind it the castle could be seen no more than a mile distant.

George jumped gracefully to the ground and was almost immediately knocked face first to the floor by Robert. Marc descended from the wall laughing.

            "Oh shut up." George shoved Robert viciously as he stood. Robert looked hurt, and also rather embarrassed.

            "Well, if the city is like the one in the book." said Marc, examining the open doors "then that second set of gates shuts automatically and turns into a big robot. So we'd better run."

            "Is it a dangerous robot?" asked George, as they hurried through. 

Marc shrugged. "Probably. I forget."

Behind them the second gates shut with a metallic clang. 

            "Oh look at the houses. They're so tiny." George gasped, bending down to look through a window. Inside the house was empty.

Robert leant on a roof. "So, are we gonna go to this castle then?" he asked. "And will there be food there? I'm starving." 

The three men made their way through the miniature city, and soon reached the castle. It towered above them, a weird collection of towers and ornate gargoyles and elaborate stonemasonry.

            "It's awfully quiet." whispered George as they pushed open the massive doors "Do you think something horrible's going to happen?"

            "Probably." said Marc uneasily.

            They paused uncertainly in the massive entrance hall, and looked around. The castle was as silent and empty as the city.

            "Well." said Robert "What did the girl in the book do now?"

            "Oh I don't know." said Marc crossly "I haven't read it since I was 10." 

            George wandered over to a half open door and looked inside hesitantly. "Hey look." he called to the other two. "I found a kind of throne room."

Robert and Marc followed George through the door and into the candle lit chamber beyond.

            "It's not very big is it?" said Robert disappointedly "For a throne room." He stood in the shallow pit in the centre of the room and kicked the bundles of rags that were laying around, morosely.

            "Robert! Marc! Look over here." George called. "There are barrels of wine!"

A few minutes later the three men were sitting comfortably on piles of rags drinking red wine from the weird black goblets they had found.

            "So, why d'you think there's no-one here then?" asked Marc.

            "Maybe there was a plague or something." said Robert.

            "Surely there'd be some bodies in that case." George pointed out, refilling his goblet.

            "Well something weird's going on." said Robert thoughtfully.

Suddenly the lights dimmed and there was a loud bang, followed by huge billows of smoke. George, Robert and Marc dropped their goblets and scuttled behind the wine barrels.

            "Typical." muttered Robert "I knew something was bound to go wrong. We never have any more than five minutes of good luck."

            "Look" said George, who was peering out form behind the barrels. "It's a man!"   

Chapter 5 — Jareth the Goblin King

As George watched cautiously from his hiding place the man turned towards him and stared directly into his eyes. He wore a massive kind of cloak-jacket of white feathers, a white shirt, white tights and rather strange eye make-up. His blond hair was unusually large, with blue streaks.

As George watched in wonder the man extended a white-gloved hand in his direction. He held four crystal balls, which he was moving constantly around in a complicated pyramid shape.

"The Goblin King!" breathed George, his eyes wide with awe.

The Goblin King lifted the topmost crystal ball, while keeping the other three in incredibly fast rotation, and allowed it to float out of his hand towards George. He followed it with the second, and third. They drifted past George and disappeared among the ornate cornices on the throne room's ceiling.      

George was entranced by this apparent magic. He stared at Jareth, his coral painted lips lightly parted and his green-blue eyes fixed, as the Goblin King held out the last crystal to George, tilted his head and beckoned. 

Inside the crystal ball George saw a mass of colours and patterns. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was beautiful.

As Robert and Marc cowered, George slowly rose to his feet and began to walk steadily towards Jareth.

            "George!" hissed Robert "What're you doing? Come back." But George did not appear to hear him. He walked towards Jareth as if hypnotised. The Goblin King smiled with a cold tenderness and held the crystal ball temptingly in front of him.  

Robert watched this fearfully from his hiding place. "Make him come back." he whispered to Marc. "He's going to get killed! He's insane!"

Marc eventually risked looking out of his hiding place. He caught sight of Jareth and gasped.

Jareth was still holding the crystal ball to George, who was now standing directly in front of him and reaching for the orb tentatively.

Suddenly Marc stood up confidently, grinning broadly. "Hey David." he said. And abruptly the crystal burst, and it was nothing more than a bubble.

Chapter 6 — David the Goblin King

"Hey Marc" said David, looking at the floor and shifting from one foot to another awkwardly.

            "So" said Marc, smiling nastily. "It's Jareth King of the Goblins now is it?" He bowed mockingly. "I'm honoured your highness that you grace us with your regal presence." He ruffled the feathers of David's collar carelessly. "Nice jacket. I see you have as much fashion sense as always."

            "Wait." said Robert "So, the guy in the tights is a friend of yours?"

            "Well, I know him." said Marc "He's from the South too. I believe I may have mentioned him vaguely." He waved his hand dismissively.

            David looked deeply embarrassed, and played with his sleeves nervously. "I thought you were dead.." he began.

            "Obviously not." said Marc. Then he turned to David and suddenly smiled warmly. David brightened up.

            "Actually David, I'm really glad to see you." he said, sliding an arm around the rather self-conscious Goblin King's waist. David smiled.

            "You see baby." said Marc brightly, smiling graciously up at him "My friends and I need somewhere to stay. You don't mind do you?"

            "Well I suppose you can…" 

            "Great" said Marc "Thanks Davie.". He turned and skipped blithely out of the room. Robert hurried after him, grinning. George followed, still looking rather dazed.

            David was left alone. He sighed and trailed out of the room, his feathery cape dragging in the dust   behind him. 

Chapter 7 — The Banquet

Robert stood on the balcony of his suite of rooms, watching the sun set in the distance. Behind him was a luxurious bedroom complete with four-poster bed, huge fireplace and hand woven carpet. George was just along the corridor, in similar surroundings. Marc had already ensured, through a combination of sulkiness and bossiness, that the master bedroom was his. This had somewhat annoyed David, since the bedroom in question was his own.

The sound of a large gong interrupted Robert's reverie, and he headed enthusiastically downstairs for dinner. It had after all been some time since he had last eaten.

David was already seated in the dining hall, and had changed into a white shirt with a frill at the throat, grey opaque tights and brown, knee-high leather boots. Around his neck was a gold necklace shaped like a bat. He was talking to George, who was sitting next to him and listening intently.

            "Well, it's nearly completed now." He was saying as Robert entered "I simply need to convince the goblins to come and live in my city, instead of their little villages, and the Labyrinth will be operational."

            "It's amazing"  said George admiringly "Making your own fairytale." He sighed longingly. David smiled.

            "Where's the food?" interrupted Robert, who was never polite when he was hungry.

            "We can't serve it until all the guests are present." explained David patiently, as if talking to a particularly stupid five year old child. 

Robert glared at David, but refrained from actually insulting him, as he was distracted by Marc appearing at the door, still wearing his jeans and tee-shirt, but having now added David's white feather cape on top of the ensemble. He posed dramatically at the door, and then strutted mockingly to the table.

            "Marc!" David protested anxiously "That's my best cape! Put it back. Please."

Marc removed the cape and flung it unceremoniously across the hall, where it landed limply in the dust. "Okay everyone" he said grandly "You may eat."

Robert began to remove the coverings from various dishes with interest. David looked rather miserable and George smiled at him encouragingly.

"So David." he asked politely "What exactly made you come all the way out here when you had such a good life in the South?" Were you exiled too?"

"Oh no." said David "Nothing like that. It was really the war that encouraged me to leave."

"What war?" asked Marc with interest.

            "Most of the Southern states declared war on a group of Northern countries." said David. "Or possibly the group of Northern countries declared war on the Southern states. It depends on who you listen to. It was kind of over trade. No one's really sure what started it to be honest. It was just one of those things that was bound to happen. I mean, you know how much tension there was between the two areas." 

            "These Northern countries." said Robert "Do they include Vanaheim?"

David frowned. "I don't believe so." he said "But there were rumours that they were about to join when I left. I only saw the first few months really."

            "They'd better not bloody join" muttered Robert darkly, ladling food onto his plate with some ferocity "Or there'll be hell to pay when I get hold of them." This remark didn't seem to be a very helpful conversation leader so it was pretty much ignored.

            "I don't see the problem" said Marc "There was always a war of some kind going on." 

            "But this wasn't just any war" David explained "This was it. The war to end all wars. The one we'd all been dreading"

Marc looked shocked. The other two looked merely puzzled.

            "So the new weapons…?" He asked tentatively

            "Operational" David's voice was grim. Marc shuddered 

            "Could I ask for some kind of explanation here?" Robert interrupted "What kind of new weapons? 'cause they'll have to be pretty good to beat the combined armies of the North. You Southerners may think you're clever, but you're no match for their strength and skill and you know it."

            "But you don't understand. These weapons…"

            "Oh it's always the same with the South. You don't think these things through. What use is one of your armoured car things if it can't get near the enemy 'cause it's no good on mountainous terrain? And those idiotic cannon things you insist on using. They explode more often than they fire 

at the enemy."

            "But these weapons are different" David persisted "These are weapons of mass destruction." 

            "What exactly do you mean by _mass_?" George asked with concern. "Like, killing 20 or 30 people at once?"

            "Maybe" said David "Maybe 2 or 3 hundred. Maybe thousands."

            "But who has an army that big anyway?" Robert objected.

            "They're not intended for use on armies."  said David. Then he sighed. "D'you remember that song I wrote Marc, '5 years'."

            "Sure" Marc nodded.

            "Well." David said sadly "That _was_ all we had." 

            "I don't see what good you leaving did though." said George "I mean, if it was a political protest it wasn't a very good one"

"It wasn't for political reasons exactly." David explained. "It was just to avoid going to war. They stepped up the hunt for National Service dodgers and the word was that conscription was the next step."

"Is that why you were in prison then Marc?" George asked. "Not doing National Service?"

"That and other stuff." Marc nodded. "It's kinda complicated. I mean, I hadn't really _done_ anything. Well, nothing they could prove."

            "You were never imprisoned then David?" Robert smiled falsely "Now, why was that?"

"Luck, I guess." David tried to shrug the matter off. Marc muttered something under his breath that didn't sound very polite. David continued hurriedly.

"It seemed a good time to keep out of the way, so I sailed over to the Island of Exiles. I was planning to stay at the home of the Head Warden, who was an old friend of mine. When I got there though, it turned out that he'd been fired for losing some prisoners in a storm. Apparently they were supposed to be for a particularly high profile public execution."

He paused and looked at Marc, who had gone pale. "I asked the new Warden if you were one of those prisoners and he said you were." David continued. "He told me they'd never found your body or the wreck of your boat, but is was pretty likely you'd died.

That night I couldn't sleep. I didn't know if you were dead or not, but I knew you were gone. And I felt kinda jealous. I mean, disappearing in that mysterious way made you sort of a legend. Well, I didn't have any better ideas and I was getting sort of tired of everything, so I thought I'd follow you and disappear too. So I crept out of the house and sailed towards the fog." 

            "Oh don't mention the fog" shuddered George

"So" said Robert, as he tore a piece of bread from the loaf. "How'd you come by the Labyrinth, big-nose?"

"I built it" said David proudly, so glowing with pride he missed the insult. "Well, the goblins helped obviously. They've only met a very few humans. They think of us as gods. It's very convenient."

"What about the doors and the smoke and the crystal balls?" asked George

"Now I can't tell you all my secrets, can I?" David smiled and chucked George under the chin. George blushed and simpered and David laughed.

"When a man knows as much about the occult as I do he has to keep secrets for the good of mankind"

            "Oh for Gods' sakes" said Robert impatiently, throwing down a chicken leg half-eaten. "You might be able to make George think you're some kind of…" his tone became increasingly mocking "mystical wizard. But I'm not stupid and neither is Marc. There's no such thing as magic, there's no such thing as mystical powers and furthermore there's no Great Cosmic Power behind everything. And going around in a stupid cape and a pair of tights isn't going to change that. Right Marc?"

"Oh shut up Robert!" Marc screamed, rather unexpectedly. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know anything." And he ran out of the room.

"What was that about?" said Robert unconcernedly, choosing a pastry from the selection in front of him.      

"Typical" said David "Him and his mood swings. I'd better go and see if he's okay." And he followed Marc out of the room.

"Listening to him you'd think they were married." said Robert, re-filling his wine glass. 

George sighed happily and began to absent-mindedly butter a small plate.

"So" Robert smiled with sickening sweetness at George "You seem to be getting on very well with David."

"Isn't he wonderful?" said George dreamily. "He's just so individual and different. Hasn't everything just turned out perfectly?" 

"Well I think he's a weird, big-nosed, stupid-haired freak with no clothes taste. I mean, has he never heard of trousers for Gods' sake? And he thinks he's gorgeous. It's deeply sad." Robert laughed. "Jareth the Goblin King! Honestly!"

"He made his own fairy tale kingdom! I think it's brilliant."

"Yeah, but he copied it straight out of a book." Robert pointed out, moving a slice of chocolate cake onto his plate.

"Do you have to be so cynical about everything!" George slammed his wine glass down angrily. "Don't you ever get tired of refusing to believe in _anything_? Can't you just be happy?"

            "Why should I be?" said Robert coldly. "Unfortunately I can't go through life like a blinkered horse as you do. Actually I kinda wish I was as stupid as you, so I wouldn't see that there's no reason to be happy and there never will be."

            "You know what Robert." said George calmly. "I hate you. Can't you just be grateful that we're alive and warm and safe after all we've been through?"

            "What's so good about being alive?" said Robert. "What have I got to live for? I hate my life and I hate you, and if I wasn't such a coward I'd kill myself."

            "I wish you would you whining, self-pitying, pathetic…" George paused, lost for words, and finally simply screamed and threw a tureen of tomato soup at Robert before storming out and slamming the door.

Robert, left alone, shook the worst of the tomato soup from himself and began to eat a cream bun.   

Chapter 8 - Should I stay or should I go?

It was a sunny but cold morning in the Goblin City. Robert Smith was wandering the corridors of the castle of the Goblin King. He was bored. He had spent most of the morning luxuriating in the huge mahogany bath with shiny brass taps in his en suite bathroom. When he had exhausted even the pleasures of playing with bubble bath he had resorted, such was the height of his boredom, to washing his hair.  

Eventually his boredom had grown too great, and he had ventured into the castle's silent halls. He had crept nervously around the huge, empty rooms, fearful of waking anyone up. Eventually the strain of tiptoeing everywhere became too great, and he went instead to the Goblin City.

But the silence of the uninhabited City unnerved him, and he soon returned to the castle. He wandered dejectedly up the stone stairs and slipped through the gap he had left between the heavy doors. As he entered, voices could be heard from somewhere within the castle. Robert brightened up. Pushing the doors until they slowly swung shut, he hurried in the direction of the sound.

He soon discovered George, Marc and David in the throne room. Marc had flung himself carelessly onto David's throne, and David stood next to him looking annoyed at having been usurped from his rightful regal position. George was standing in the corner filling goblets with wine. He smiled as Robert entered and passed him a full glass.

            "It's about time you lot got up." said Robert, sipping at the liquid handed to him. "I've been awake for hours. Have you been up long?"

            "We've been up about 20 minutes" Marc yawned.

            "Only a few minutes" said George. "I couldn't get to sleep for excitement. Where've you been?"

            "The City." said Robert. "It's really creepy. You should take a look around."

            "David?" said George, approaching him hopefully. "Will you show me around the Labyrinth today? And explain it all to me?" He batted his eyelashes at David.

            "Sure" David replied "Marc, Robert, would you like to come?"

George looked sulky. Robert noticed and smiled. "No, it's alright. I've got to stay here and...um...have a bath." George smiled his gratitude to Robert and then looked anxiously at Marc.

            "It's alright" said Marc "I've read the book." And he swept out of the room.

            "Ignore him." George patted David's shoulder. "He's just jealous." 

After George and David had left Robert wandered around until he found Marc in the courtyard, sitting on a wall strumming his guitar.

            "Where'd you get that from?" said Robert, sitting next to him. "I thought it was in the boat."

            "David's had all our stuff brought here." said Marc. "It's upstairs. I'll show you later."

            "Where's the boat?"

            "He's had it put in his boat house, along with the one he arrived in." Marc explained.

            "Oh. Okay." Robert paused. " So...are we staying here then?" He glanced at Marc, who was staring ahead.

            "No" said Marc with vehemence. "No. I can't stand it here and I can't stand him."

            "George'll be upset." said Robert. "He really likes it here. And he really likes David."

            "Yeah, I know." Marc sighed. "Do you like it here?"

            "Well there's no immediate risk of death. I suppose that's quite nice." said Robert. "But I couldn't say I like it. Actually, I think the whole place is creepy and weird. I agree with you. Lets leave."

            "I guess..." said Marc slowly "that we could leave George here. I mean, if that's what he wanted. And just go on. The two of us."

            "Yeah." said Robert. "If that's what he wanted. Do you think he'd be happy?"

            "No" said Marc. "But if it's what he wants he won't listen to me. And we can't force him to come with us."

            "No." said Robert sadly. "I don't suppose we can."  

Chapter  9 - United we stand

George and David strolled arm in arm through the Goblin City under the setting sun. They had spent the day wandering around the Labyrinth, through secret doors, underground passageways and horrible bogs.

As they approached the castle they could see Marc lying on the steps resting his head on his folded arms and listening to Robert, who was sitting on the top step strumming his guitar and singing. As they got closer they were able to make out the words:

            "Go on, go on, just walk away.

             Go on, go on, your choice is made.

             Go on, go on, and disappear.

             Go on, go on, away from here."

            "They're very depressing lyrics considering how cheerful the music is." said George as he approached. "Is it a new song?"

            "No." said Robert. "It just seemed appropriate for some reason." He paused and began to tune the guitar unnecessarily. "D'you have a good time then?" he asked, rather grudgingly.  

            "Yeah, it was brilliant." George skipped around in excitement while still clinging onto David's arm. "We saw a talking worm, and these things with two heads, and animals that could take their heads _off_. And we went to the Bog of Eternal Stench and an oubliette and they were _really_ horrible. And there were goblins and big monsters and…" he paused momentarily for breath "It was absolutely brilliant, wasn't it David?" He beamed at David enthusiastically.

            "It was certainly a most enjoyable afternoon." David agreed, smiling down at George rather patronisingly. "Come along gentlemen, dinner will soon be served." And he swept into the castle, George still on his arm.

Robert strummed his guitar miserably. "Well, when are we going to tell him?" He glanced at Marc, who was still lying on the step.

            "Oh, I don't know." said Marc grumpily. "Tomorrow." And he got up and went inside.

Robert remained alone for a while in the darkness, strumming his guitar and thinking.

Chapter 10 - Another banquet

Like the previous night David and George sat on one side of the table and Robert and Marc on the other. George joked and giggled with David, Robert ate a hearty meal and ignored everyone and Marc played with his food like a sulky child.

            "By the way, you three." David said, refilling his wine glass. "I thought maybe since you were all living here you could sort of take part in the Labyrinth? You know, play some parts."

            "Sounds stupid." said Robert. "Pass the yams."

            "Well it's either that or you hide every time anyone's here." 

            "Who exactly are you expecting to visit?" asked Marc nastily. "It's hardly a convenient spot for weekend trips."

"The Goblins say people come now and then." David told him. "Apparently there's a link to another universe"

"Oh for Gods' sakes" said Robert, rather rudely talking with his mouth full. "This just gets more and more stupid. A link to another universe!" He shook his head.

"Can we go through?" asked George enthusiastically.

"Well" David warned "the Goblins haven't shown me how to use it yet, but I'm kinda supposed to keep it to myself. It's some kind of magic thing a wizard put there once, or something."

"And where's the wizard now?" Robert rolled his eyes. "I suppose he disappeared in a puff of smoke."

"According to the Goblins he sailed over the edge of the world." said David. "But they do tend to make things up. Pork?" he held out a slice to Robert.

"Sure" said Robert. "I never say no to food." David served him a few slices, then offered some to Marc.

"David." said Marc wearily. "I'm a vegetarian Jew."

"Oh right...yeah...sorry." David looked embarrassed. "I forgot. Sorry."

"Stop apologising to him." said George angrily. "He's always horrible to you. He doesn't deserve an apology."       

"Oh shut up George." said Marc spitefully. "It's pathetic the way you follow him around al day like a lap dog. And don't give me that wide-eyed, innocent look. I'm not stupid."

"I'm only being friendly." 

"Oh yeah, _friendly_." Robert laughed. "_Friendly_. Sure."

"Why are you both so nasty to him?" George demanded. "You could at least pretend to be nice, since we're staying in his house."

"Not for long." said Marc coldly.

"What d'you mean?" George was confused.

"Robert and I have decided to leave." said Marc. "You can come if you want or stay here." He shrugged. "It's your decision."

"Leaving? Why?" George asked, puzzled. "David has been so nice."

Marc shrugged again. Robert ignored everyone and buttered a roll.

            "Look." David began purposefully. "I know you two and I haven't been getting on terribly well, but that's no reason for you to leave. It's dangerous and foolhardy."

            "Shut up David. You're boring me." Marc replied.

            "Why must it always be like this?" David demanded. "I'm nice to you and you never do anything but mock me." He looked away and bit his lip, either in anger or to hold back tears. Then turning back he said purposefully. "You know, I wrote you a song once, but you were exiled before I could sing it to you." He hesitated awkwardly. "Can I sing it now?"

            "If you like." said Marc dismissively. "Music over dinner's always nice. And you've picked one of my favourite subjects to sing about." He grinned. George glared at him.

            "Can I borrow your guitar Robert?" David asked, nodding to where it rested against the wall.

            "Will you touch it?"

            "Well, yes." said David, puzzled.

            "Then no, you can't." said Robert, returning to the far more important matter of eating. David sighed and went to find his own guitar. There was a tense silence in the Banqueting Room until he returned. He sat down and bean to tune up. Marc looked at the clock impatiently.

            David, having got comfortable, began to strum a few chords experimentally until he was happy. This is called "Lady Stardust." he said, and began to sing.

            "People stared at the makeup on his face      

             Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace

             The boy in the bright blue jeans

             Jumped up on the stage

             And lady stardust sang his songs

             Of darkness and disgrace

             And he was alright the band was all together             

             And he was alright the song went on forever

             And he was awful nice

             Really quite out of sight

             And he sang all night long

             Femme fatales emerged from shadows

             To watch this creature fair

             Boys stood upon their chairs

             To make their point of view   

             I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey

             And lady stardust sang his songs

             Of darkness and dismay

Oh how I sighed when they asked if I knew his                                    name

             And he was alright the band was all together             

             And he was alright the song went on forever

             And he was awful nice

             Really quite paradise

             And he sang all night long

As the last notes died away George wiped a few tears from his eyes. There was a thoughtful silence.

"Pass the dumplings." said Robert. David looked annoyed but did so.

"So what d'you think?" He looked at Marc, who was eating a cream cake.

"It was alright." he said, finishing off his wine.

David looked hurt. "I thought it was beautiful." said George, patting David's hand. "He didn't deserve it. You should write a song for someone who cares about you." He smiled.

Marc yawned. "What do you think Robert?" he asked. "Shall we leave tomorrow?"

            "Sounds like a good plan to me." said Robert. He looked at George questioningly. George looked away.

            "We'll need the boat ready by noon at the latest to catch the good winds." Marc informed David. "Well stocked with appropriate food. And get someone to clean it to." He held his wine glass in David's face and turned away to talk to Robert. David sighed and refilled the glass.

"David." George nudged him. "You don't have to refill it. Ignore him until he asks properly."

"Yeah Marc, say the magic word." said Robert mockingly.

"Oh shut up." said George. "I'm glad you two are going. You're taking advantage of David's generous nature. At least when you're gone he'll be able to eat dinner without being insulted and have his own bedroom back."

"He has got his bedroom back." said Marc coldly.

"Where are you sleeping then?"

"The master bedroom." Marc's voice was flat.

            "But David's room _is_ the master bedroom…" George tailed off, and his eyes opened wide. He turned to David, who looked away. Marc stared blankly at him, as though waiting for a response.

George stood up slowly. "I hate you." he said calmly. "I hate you all." Then he picked up a large plate of jelly and threw it at Marc's head. It hit him squarely and knocked him to the floor. George looked around as if unsure where he was. Finally he punched David to the floor, threw his plate at Robert and ran out of the room.

Robert ignored the plate, which bounced off his shoulder, and continued eating. David sat up and checked he wasn't bleeding. Then he looked across at Marc, who was still lying on the floor covered in green jelly. Slowly a smile crept onto his face, and he began to laugh.

            "Shut up." said Marc harshly, sitting up. "It's not funny." But David's laughter had become that slightly hysterical sort that continues regardless of external factors. 

            "I said shut up." Marc insisted angrily. "David?" David made no reply.

            "Shut up, shut up, shut up. I _hate_ you." screamed Marc furiously. He threw the nearest plate to him at David and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

David laughed for a good five minutes before he finally calmed down. He sat for a moment or two recovering before standing, brushing himself down and calmly leaving the room.

Robert, who by this time was getting pretty used to being left on his own after huge arguments, selected an apple form the fruit dish and shined it on his sleeve. "Well." he told the empty room. "I'll say one thing for them. It was the best dinner entertainment I've seen in a while."

Chapter 11 - It's not the leaving of the Labyrinth w

which grieves me... 

Robert stood on the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon, looking for the last time at the Labyrinth. They were leaving from a small harbour just to the North East of the beach they had landed on. As Robert watched, Marc emerged from the cabin behind him.

            "Well, I guess we should go then." said Robert. "George isn't here."

            "Yeah, I suppose." said Marc reluctantly. "I'll go cast off, or whatever it's called." He looked hopefully toward the shore for something to stop him, but nothing was forthcoming.

He was just untying the rope which secured the boat when George appeared on the harbour wall, waving frantically.

            "George!" screamed Robert excitedly as George hurried toward them and climbed into the boat. He couldn't think of anything to add to this, so he simply grinned.

The wind filled the sails of the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon as it left the harbour. 

            "How come you didn't stay?" asked Robert, still grinning.

George shrugged. "I just didn't quite feel I fitted in. And it wasn't as magical as I thought." He smiled. "Hi Marc."

            "Hi" said Marc awkwardly. There was an uncomfortable pause.    

            "Look." said Robert. "There's David!" He pointed to the thin figure perched on the harbour wall, hands resting on a box in his lap.

            "What's he holding?" said Robert. Marc looked slightly embarrassed.

            "It's my mask." he said. "I gave it to him."

George smiled. "that was really sweet." he said. 

            "Well I thought I might as well." said Marc sadly. "When am I going to go to a Masquerade Ball again?" The three men were silent.

Gradually the sound of a guitar reached them. It was David. His voice could be heard singing mournfully

            "One day

             Though it might as well be someday

             You and I will go far

             All because of what you are

             The prettiest star."

Robert, watching until David could no longer be seen, couldn't help wondering who David was singing the song for. But he supposed that in the end it didn't really matter.


	6. Part 6

Sorry I've been so crap at updating this, but I've been busy with other stuff and I've had complication with transferring it from one computer to another and other stuff. Plus I was fairly sure no one was reading it since they changed the site. But I was very excited to receive a review, proving I have one reader. Thank you Cera. This section is dedicated to you. I hope you've seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show. If not, I apologise for the lack of sense you will be able to make of Chapters 4 onward. Incidentally, I would like to make it clear to everyone who reads this that I am in NO WAY against drugs. Not at all. I promise.  
  
The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon Part Six  
  
Chapter 1 - At Sea Again George sat watching the sea and singing. The song was entitled 'Victims', and was unusually melancholy for him. Robert was assisting by strumming along on his guitar. Marc sat dejectedly watching the waves. The last notes of the song died away and George sighed heavily and stared toward the grey horizon. The three men sat in miserable silence. They were now three days sailing from the Labyrinth, and the journey had been tense and depressing. Any excitement felt at the beginning of their journey from Rarn had long since evaporated. Unusually, it was Robert who attempted to break the gloomy hush. He yawned and stretched his legs. "How are the supplies holding up George?" "Oh fine." Said George indifferently. "That reminds me, could you ask Marc to get what we need for dinner out of the hold." "You ask him." said Robert, losing his tolerant manner swiftly. "He's only over there." He gestured to Marc, who was less than two metres distant and clearly attending to their conversation. George looked sulky. "Marc." He said curtly. "Get the food." "Don't order me around." Marc objected crossly. "Oh shut up and do your job." "Look!" Robert interrupted. "This is really stupid. Will you two grow up? You're being pathetic." "Well, he started it." Said George. "He didn't even like David. He was just jealous 'cause David liked me." "It was nothing to do with you." Marc assured him. "Me and David were friends years before you met either of us, so don't act like you know everything about it." "I REALLY, REALLY don't want to talk about this." Robert interjected hurriedly. Silence. "Well" said Robert "I still think he had a really big nose." Marc began to laugh. "Yeah." He agreed. "And terrible fashion sense." "I can't believe he was calling himself." Robert could barely continue for his laughter. "Jareth the Goblin King!" He and Marc were by now laughing hysterically. George looked at them resentfully. Then, despite himself, he began to giggle. "He was a bit sad, wasn't he?" he admitted. "Remember what he said about the wizard and the link to another universe?" Their laughter increased, and this time George joined in. Eventually the three of them calmed down, and sat trying to catch their breath. Robert wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. Suddenly he grinned broadly, a rare site indeed. "Well he may have been ugly and pathetic." He said solemnly. "but he was really handy with those balls!" And the three of them began to giggle again.  
  
Chapter 2 - The Calm Before. The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon had not seen land for three weeks. Those on board were having difficulty entertaining themselves through the long days and nights at sea. Much time had been spent playing cards, or telling each other rather melodramatic ghost stories. George had begun to write an autobiography, Robert spent a lot of time reading boring literature and Marc was writing a book of poetry. As well as helping each other with these activities, much time was spent searching for group activities to occupy the three men. They had, for example, spent some hours drawing up a chart of the voyage so far. George had carefully sketched a basic outline of the main bodies of land (with much disagreement from the others), Robert had painstakingly labelled each location he had any knowledge of, and Marc had assisted by colouring the map in. This particular afternoon Robert was putting the final touches to a new song (which involved him playing the same chord over and over again until it drove everyone mad, and occasionally pausing to look thoughtful), and Marc was plaiting George's hair, as George had decided that morning that he needed a change. "I was thinking." said George, as Robert paused for a moment to note down a chord change. "We've been sailing for a very long time now, and we haven't seen any land." "Yes, I had noticed actually." said Robert nastily. "Well I just thought." George continued, rather annoyed. "Maybe there isn't any other land. I mean, what if there's nothing? Or at least nothing near enough to reach. I mean, isn't it a bit stupid for us to just keep sailing on?" "Well there's nowhere else to go." Marc pointed out as he tied a piece of red ribbon into a bow. "Maybe we should go back." George suggested. "Back where exactly?" Robert asked. "The Labyrinth? The Fog? Or back to Uluria to get hung?" George gave up. There was clearly no point in even bringing the issue up today. Marc started a new plait. Robert tried a new chord experimentally. Outside an ominous rumbling noise echoed across the open sea. "Great." said Robert. "A storm. Typical." He put his guitar down grumpily. "We'd better go and take down all the bigger sails, or we'll be blown over." The three of the, got up and climbed on deck. A strong wind had risen quickly. George's new plaits blew rather painfully into Robert's face. Robert sighed and stared out across the sea. The waves already appeared dangerous, and the storm hadn't even started yet. "Anyone want to place bets on who survives?" he asked. "2-to-1 me, 4- to-1 Marc, 10-to-1 George" "Why am I least likely to survive?" George demanded tetchily. "Well, you do tend to panic in storms." said Robert. "And you can be kinda silly. And Marc's complete lack of common sense is his flaw." "On the other hand." Marc pointed out as he struggled to control a sail. "the chances of you being murdered by one of us are extremely high." Robert was prevented from replying by a peal of thunder so loud the three men were almost deafened. It was accompanied by a flash of lightning which conveniently hit the main mast. Marc hurriedly let go of the rope he was holding (which was connected to the mast in question ) and screamed, although the sound was drowned out by the thunder. Robert, who was leaning on the mast, threw himself face first onto the deck, thereby just avoiding being burnt to death but looking rather stupid in the process. As he sat up the rain began. It poured down in sheets, soaking all three of them almost instantly. George shrieked and ran into the cabin. Robert and Marc tied up the sail they had been lowering and followed him. "Brilliant." said Robert flatly, wringing out his shirt. "Now we're stuck in here, and most likely the boat'll be overturned or driven onto rocks, and we'll all die." George burst into tears. "Thanks for your words of hope and comfort Robert." Said Marc, as he passed George a rather wet handkerchief. "They were just SO constructive and inspiring" Another clap of thunder shook the boat, and the sky was illuminated. George shrieked again, grabbed hold of the nearest thing to him (which was Marc), and hid his face. Marc patted George's shoulder absently. "Great." Robert struggled to close the shutters against the onslaught of driving rain, stinging sea spray and biting wind. "He's completely hysterical. That's really going to help." "I hate storms." George told them needlessly, his voice muffled because he was pressing his face into Marc's chest. "I hate them." There was a sudden dull noise form the deck followed by a flapping sound. Robert opened the cabin door cautiously and did his best to look outside. "What's happening?" George screamed in terror. "We're sinking aren't we? We're all going to die." He dug his nails into Marc's hand. "It's the main sail." said Robert. "It's come lose. Next time there's a big gust of wind in the right direction we'll be blown over." George moaned, but seemed to have given up on speech. "Well" Robert said unenthusiastically "I guess I'd better go out and fix it. Come on Marc, I'll need some help." Marc prised George's nails from his flesh with difficulty. "Back soon, okay?" he whispered to the trembling figure. "Here, hug this for now." He passed George a rolled up sleeping bag. George grabbed it desperately. Marc turned and followed Robert up the ladder to the uncertain deck above.  
  
Chapter 3 - .The Storm The tiny boat was tossed precariously over the black sea as Robert clung to the mast and desperately tried to control the sail. Marc was nearer the front of the boat, trying to tie the sail before Robert lost his grip. Without warning the tiny vessel was hit by an enormous wave. Robert was knocked off his feet, and swung across the deck clinging rather ridiculously to the rope. Marc was thrown to the prow, where he managed to catch hold of a barrier before the entire front half of the craft was engulfed in the foaming waters. It emerged with Marc still clinging to the side, looking distinctly annoyed. Robert dragged his feet until his pendulum like course was slowed and he managed to stand upon the deck rather than swing across it. Then he began again to attempt to control the sail. With Marc's help this was done before the next wave enveloped the boat. They staggered as best they could back to the cabin. George was now sitting up looking tearful. The rocking of the boat threw the man from one side to another. Robert, as he clung to a window shutter to remain upright, began to laugh. "What can you possibly find funny in these circumstances?" Marc screamed over the noise of the thunder. "I was just thinking" said Robert. "Your hair looks rally stupid when it's wet." "Thanks Robert." The boat tipped onto its side and Marc hung onto a shelf, legs dangling. "And there I was thinking I'd die without comfort." George, who had been thrown into a position where he could see the window, suddenly screamed. "Land! Land!" "Where?" Robert screamed back, looking out of the window excitedly. And indeed there did appear to be land of some kind but a few miles distant. "Thank the Gods!" George sighed with relief. "Hurry up. Turn round. Set a course, or whatever." "But what if it's surrounded by rocks or something." Robert objected. "We'll be sunk." "I couldn't care less." George told him. "I can't stand any more of this." And so the occupants of the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon set a course for the strange black land mass ahead.  
  
Chapter 4 - There's A Light Hail battered the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon as it was dragged unsteadily up the shore by George, Robert and Marc. Eventually they reached an area where the boat could be safely tied. They stood for a moment in the downpour regaining their breath. "Lets go see if we can find some help or something." George suggested. "I'm freezing. And standing under a tree in a thunderstorm is making me nervous." "What if the island's uninhabited and dangerous, idiot?" demanded Robert, who was in a bad temper because he had fallen head first into a large pile of mud while moving the boat. "We could freeze to death, or fall down a cliff, or bit hit by lightning, or attacked by wild beasts, or." "Well, there's a house about 100 metres away. " George indicated a nearby hill. "I figure we can just about get there without dying," There was indeed a building, large and ornate and decorated with all the gothic trimmings, gargoyles included. It was surrounded by an iron fence, and a path led through elaborate gates before tailing off immediately outside when there was clearly nowhere to go but dense forest. It looked somewhat out of place. Robert sulked. He hated sarcasm that wasn't by him. "Fine." he conceded grumpily. "Come on then." "Wait!" George looked shocked. "I'm glad you delayed me. I'd nearly forgotten. You can't go and knock at somebody's house all covered in mud with your make-up all smudged. It's bad manners." "Oh for." Robert just about managed to keep his temper at the thought of warm beds and a good meal. "Okay, fine. But can we hurry up?"  
  
Fifteen minutes later Robert was ready. He had selected as his visiting outfit rather worn black jeans, a spotted waistcoat and a huge white shirt with frilled sleeves. He covered all this with a massive shapeless black coat. On his feet were ridiculously oversized, somewhat mismatched white trainers. Marc was the next to finish dressing. He wore black velvet trousers with coloured diamonds of sequins running down the sides, and a top with the word MARC across the chest. Over this was an old fashioned overcoat. On his feet where brightly coloured trainers. He carried a black umbrella with a cane handle. The two waited impatiently while George applied lipstick, lip-liner, mascara, eye-liner and blucher. He wore large, black smock like clothing along with a floor length yellow mac. A flat black hat was the finishing touch. "Can we go now?" Robert asked impatiently, looking longingly toward the house. A single window glowed promisingly in the darkness. "Wait, wait." George was flustered. "I need jewellery. This whole look hinges on accessories!" Robert sighed and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. To provoke George would only mean more delay. Finally George was ready, and they made their way toward the house. Marc out up his umbrella and since it provided insufficient cover for two Robert shielded his head with an old newspaper. They soon arrived at the rusted gates, and worriedly read the sign lashed to them:  
  
ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!!  
  
Robert pushed the gates open nevertheless, and held them for the other two. "Oooh, it's very big isn't it?" George said admiringly. "What is?" Robert asked nervously. "The house, obviously. I bet they're really rich." "Good." said Marc. "Then they can afford to help us." They had by this time reached the door of the mansion. George checked his make-up in a hand mirror and Marc quickly applied extra lip gloss. Robert ignored them and rang the doorbell. The sound of the bell echoed around the building, and finally faded into silence. There was no sign of any response. Robert rang the bell again, and then stepped down from the stone staircase and turned to George and Marc. "I don't think anyone's gonna answer." he said. "Oh well." Marc shrugged. "Lets break in then. I'm freezing." "Good plan." George agreed. "Shall I go and see if there are any windows open?" He was interrupted by a drawn out creaking noise as the front door slowly swung open. George quickly fixed his hair, Marc brushed his clothes down and Robert coughed nervously. A face peered around the door at the three men. It belonged to a sallow skinned man who was bald except for a few strings of white-blonde hair hanging from the sides of his head and brushing the dirty shoulders of his jacket. He stared at each of the men in turn. George grinned nervously, Robert glared and Marc shuffled his feet. Having thoroughly considered all three personages on the doorstep, he paused. Then, slowly, he returned to George and began the process of examination again. Finally, just when the process was getting so ridiculous that George, Robert and Marc felt compelled to speak, the man finally cleared his throat and said in a high, wobbly, rather ridiculous voice. "Hellew?" "Er, hi." Robert began awkwardly. "We, er, we got caught in the storm, in the boat.that's the boat we came in, obviously.and, er..." The man stared blankly at him as he spoke, which was making him feel rather awkward. He did his best to continue. "We, er, we wondered if we could just stay here until the storm dies down? I mean, if that's not too much trouble.?" He looked hopeful. The man stared at them, frowned, and then said slowly. "You're wet." George, who had been putting up with the ruination of his hair, make-up and clothing by the rain with as much patience as he could muster finally lost his temper. "That's because it's pouring down with rain, you ugly, bald little freak." he screamed, marching up the steps. "Now are you gonna invite us in or are you gonna leave us to die in the storm?" His expression left no one in any doubt which was the correct answer. Throughout this tirade the man kept staring blankly ahead, apparently oblivious to the screams. When it was over however, he stepped back and held the door open. "I suppose you'd better all." he paused. George clenched his fists. ".come inside." "About time" George muttered as he stepped inside. Robert followed him cautiously. As soon as Marc had stepped through the door the man slammed it closed and drew the bolts. Seen in the light he appeared to be a butler, albeit an unusually scruffy one. He wore a tattered black suit and an unpleasantly stained, previously white shirt. The house itself was as gothic as its exterior implied. Oil paintings jostled for space on the walls, stuffed animals posed in inappropriate places, a grandfather clock stood open, revealing a skeleton within and an oak staircase led up to darkness. It looked like an inept attempt by people who had never seen a house before to replicate the surroundings of a rich country gentleman. "Nice place." said George, examining an oil painting on a nearby wall. "So where's the owner then?" "The Master is upstairs." Said the butler slowly, with an odd jerking of his head. "He is not to be disturbed. He is.working." "Just go and get him." George snapped, quickly losing patience. "We're important people. We won't be treated with this lack of respect." He smacked the butler viciously across the head. "Of course, sir." The man replied, cowering nervously. "I'll fetch the master immediately. Do come this way." He led them across the hall, past a lift shaft and through a set of double doors. Inside a red carpet led up to a raised dais on which rested a golden chair. "Wait here." said the butler turning to Marc, who backed quickly away from him in disgust. "The Master will see you soon." And he scuttled from the room and slammed the doors behind him.  
  
Chapter 5 - Meeting the Master "Well he was a freak." said Robert, brushing a cobweb off the top of the throne. "Do you think he's got mental problems?" Marc asked. "What kind of problems? Complete insanity?" "No, I mean is he a bit, y'know, slow?" "No, he's a lot slow." said Robert. "I hope the master's a bit more normal. "Who are you to talk about normal?" laughed George. "Well I'm not a bald albino hunchback." Robert pointed out calmly. "You were kinda cruel to him though." Marc said to George. "Hitting him and everything."  
  
"That's how you talk to servants." George told him. "Learnt that in your days as Royal Concubine did you?" said Robert acidly. George looked subdued. "Do you guys hear a noise?" Marc interrupted. "Kind of a stomping?" They listened. "Oh yeah." agreed George. "I think it's coming from the hall." He crossed to the back of the room, followed by the Marc and Robert, and opened the white-painted doors. The hall was empty. "Funny." said Robert, leaning against the corner of the lift-shaft. "I could have sworn the noise was out here." He rubbed his chin musingly. "It's getting louder." said Marc. "It must be getting closer. Actually it sounds like it's coming from above.George, are you okay?" George was staring at a point somewhere behind Robert and Marc, wide-eyed. He pointed and realisation dawned on the other two. They turned slowly around. Behind them in the lift stood a man in a floor length, high collared black cape and shoes with massive white glittery heels. His face was heavily made up: painted ghostly white with dark red lips outlined in black and heavily applied dark eye-shadow. He leant forward so that his face was a few inches from Marc's and smiled. Marc backed hurriedly away and tripped over a stuffed leopard. "Allow me to introduce myself." The man extended a gloved hand languidly in Robert's direction. "My name is Dr.Furter, but you my dear." He smoothed Robert's gently. "You can call me Frank." Robert smiled nervously. "Wait a minute." said George. "Your name is Frank Furter?" He looked incredulous. "Indeed. Frank N Furter. And you are?" "I'm Boy George, and this is Robert Smith and Marc Bolan." George gestured to the other two as he spoke. "We got caught in the storm, and we wondered if we could stay here for the night?" He smiled hopefully. "How could I refuse my hospitality to three such.fine specimens of manhood?" Dr. Furter stretched and convoluted each word as he spoke. "And may I apologise for my handyman Riff Raff. He was most disrespectful." "Frank Furter and Riff Raff?" George laughed. "What planet are you guys from?" Dr. Furter jumped visibly, and then smiled and relaxed. "Ah yes, one fo your colloquial expressions I believe." "Er, yeah." George agreed, puzzled. "You three gentlemen must be tired after your.exertions earlier." said Dr. Furter, his wide mouth spreading into an unpleasant grimace. He had a strange tendency to leave a suggestive pause in the middle of even the most innocent of sentences. "My servants will show you to your rooms. I must return to work." "What do you do?" George asked politely. "I'm a biochemist my dear." Said Dr. Furter. His voice suddenly became harsher. "Riff Raff! Magenta! Columbia! See to out guests." He turned and swept into the lift. The butler hurried down the stairs at his master's command, followed by tow women. One was dressed as a French maid and carried a feather duster. Her face was wide and dominated by a large and crooked mouth. The other was small and pale with very short red hair, and wore striped pyjamas and a small black hat with tow large ears on top. She yawned sulkily. Riff Raff's hollow gaze fell on Robert. He approached him and began to remove his baggy coat. The French maid did the same for Marc's overcoat and the pyjama clad girl removed George's yellow mac. "Er, thanks." Robert did his best to keep as far away as possible from Riff Raff. The butler hung Robert's coat on his arm and began to remove his waistcoat. "It's all right." Robert explained. "I want to keep that on actually." The butler became more insistent. "I said I want to keep it ON!" Robert pulled the fabric from Riff Raff's grasp. George was trying his best to remove his hat from the clutches of Columbia and Marc was fighting a losing battle with Magenta to keep his t-shirt on. "Thank you." said Robert loudly in a firm tone. "But we'd rather get undressed ourselves. In Private." The butler let go of his clothes, but looked somewhat less than happy about doing so. Magenta and Columbia followed suit. Riff Raff led the way upstairs, glaring at George as he did so. He insisted on leading Robert by the arm, despite Robert's obvious discomfort with this situation. Columbia followed behind George, pushing him unnecessarily up the stairs. Marc lagged behind, still struggling with his t-shirt which Magenta had tangled around his head. "Shift it!" she shrieked, in a voice that could shatter glass. Marc hurried upstairs looking scared. In the abandoned hall a grandfather clock chimed midnight. Strange noises echoed down the lift shaft from the floor above and spread through the many rooms. The only recognisable sound among them was that of faint, cruel laughter.  
  
Chapter 6 - That Night Once George had been shown to his room he stretched out happily on the bed and made himself comfortable, wondering as he did so why the whole room was lit entirely with red light. Still, this was the first time he had been in a proper bed for almost a month and frankly he could put up with weird lighting for the privilege. He smiled contentedly and curled up beneath the covers.  
  
The bedroom door creaked slowly open. George stirred in his sleep and shifted around under the bedcovers. A figure crept slowly into the room, and closed the door softly. Then it approached the bed and twitched the hangings aside. George scrunched his eyes up at the slight increase in light and peered up at the figure, which climbed onto the bed and closed the curtains. "It's me." It whispered." Robert." "Oh, hey." said George sleepily. "What is it?" "I brought you something my dear." whispered the figure, holding out a small ebony box inlaid with gold. "Couldn't it have waited until morning?" George said, accepting the box. "What's in it?" He unlatched the lid and lifted it carefully. Inside was a golden brown powder. "Opium extract." whispered the figure, leaning so close to George that their lips tickled his ear. George moved away nervously. "Where'd you get it Robert?" he asked. "Er.I found it." said the figure, looking nervous. George, who was still half asleep, nodded and placed the box on the bedside table. "Thanks." He said, smiling weakly. The figure slipped its arm around George's shoulder and leant against him. George looked uncomfortable. "What's the matter?" it whispered softy, stroking George's chest. "Nothing." George shifted away from the slowly moving hand. "Could you leave now? I'm tired." "Very well, whatever makes you happy dear." whispered the figure, slipping out of the bed. "Sweet dreams." he added in an unusually suggestive fashion, and left the room. George wrapped the bedcovers tightly around him. He was puzzled, both by Robert's behaviour and his refusal to explain where he had got the opium extract from. But his tiredness overcame him and he drifted into sleep.  
  
Chapter 6 - That Night Once Robert had been shown to his room he stretched out happily on the bed and made himself comfortable, wondering as he did so why the whole room was lit entirely with blue light. Still, this was the first time he had been in a proper bed for almost a month and frankly he could put up with weird lighting for the privilege. He smiled contentedly and curled up beneath the covers.  
  
The bedroom door creaked slowly open. Robert stirred in his sleep and shifted around under the bedcovers. A figure crept slowly into the room, and closed the door softly. Then it approached the bed and twitched the hangings aside. Robert scrunched his eyes up at the slight increase in light and peered up at the figure, which climbed onto the bed and closed the curtains. "It's me." It whispered." Marc." "Oh, hey." said Robert sleepily. "What is it?" "I brought you something my dear." whispered the figure, holding out a small ebony box inlaid with silver. "Couldn't it have waited until morning?" Robert said, accepting the box. "What's in it?" He unlatched the lid and lifted it carefully. Inside was a piece of thick paper embossed with rows of small red lips. "Hallucinogens." whispered the figure, leaning so close to Robert that their lips tickled his ear. "Just like they used to give you during sacrifices." Robert moved away nervously. "How did you know about that Marc?" he asked. "Er.you must have mentioned it." said the figure, looking nervous. Robert, who was still half asleep, nodded and placed the box on the bedside table. "Thanks." He said, smiling weakly. The figure slipped its arm around Robert's shoulder and leant against him. Robert looked uncomfortable. "What's the matter?" it whispered softy, stroking Robert's chest. "Nothing." Robert shifted away from the slowly moving hand. "Could you leave now? I'm tired." "Very well, whatever makes you happy dear." whispered the figure, slipping out of the bed. "Sweet dreams." he added in an unusually suggestive fashion, and left the room. Robert wrapped the bedcovers tightly around him. He was puzzled, both by Marc's behaviour and his refusal to explain how he knew about the hallucinogens. But his tiredness overcame him and he drifted into sleep.  
  
Chapter 6 - That Night Once Marc had been shown to his room he stretched out happily on the bed and made himself comfortable, wondering as he did so why the whole room was lit entirely with green light. Still, this was the first time he had been in a proper bed for almost a month and frankly he could put up with weird lighting for the privilege. He smiled contentedly and curled up beneath the covers.  
  
The bedroom door creaked slowly open. Marc stirred in his sleep and shifted around under the bedcovers. A figure crept slowly into the room, and closed the door softly. Then it approached the bed and twitched the hangings aside. Marc scrunched his eyes up at the slight increase in light and peered up at the figure, which climbed onto the bed and closed the curtains. "It's me." It whispered." George." "Oh, hey." said Marc sleepily. "What is it?" "I brought you something my dear." whispered the figure, holding out a small ebony box inlaid with rubies. "Couldn't it have waited until morning?" Marc said, accepting the box. "What's in it?" He unlatched the lid and lifted it carefully. Inside was a chalk white powder. "Cocaine." whispered the figure, leaning so close to Marc that their lips tickled his ear. Marc moved away nervously. "How come you're giving it to me George?" he asked. "Er.I just thought maybe you'd want it." said the figure, looking nervous. Marc, who was still half asleep, nodded and placed the box on the bedside table. "Thanks." He said, smiling weakly. The figure slipped its arm around Marc's shoulder and leant against him. Marc looked uncomfortable. "What's the matter?" it whispered softy, stroking Marc's chest. "Nothing." Marc shifted away from the slowly moving hand. "Could you leave now? I'm tired." "Very well, whatever makes you happy dear." whispered the figure, slipping out of the bed. "Sweet dreams." he added in an unusually suggestive fashion, and left the room. Marc wrapped the bedcovers tightly around him. He was puzzled, both by George's behaviour and his refusal to explain why he was giving the cocaine to Marc. But his tiredness overcame him and he drifted into sleep.  
  
Chapter 7 - Dinner is Prepared The sound of a gong reverberated around the old house, calling the guests to the dining room where Dr. Furter sat, now dressed for dinner in an extremely torn black top, fishnet stockings, suspenders, small black satin knickers and knee-high boots. He sat at the head of the table with Columbia to his left, still clad in her stripy pyjamas and looking as sulky as ever. Eventually the door creaked open and Robert entered, looking uncomfortable in the white satin dressing gown he was wearing. Frank smiled a rather unpleasant welcome and stroked the chair to his right invitingly. Robert accepted the chair, but looked annoyed. "Something seems to be troubling you my dear." Frank whispered, leaning over and stroking Robert's face with a gloved hand. "Do tell me. I can keep a secret." He smiled. Robert sat stiffly in the hard chair and looked awkward, "It's nothing really." he said, nervously picking at the tablecloth. "It's just that my clothes are gone. I suppose your servants took them to wash or something, but I've got nothing else to wear and." "Don't concern yourself with such menial matters." smiled Frank. "They are far beneath you. You are, after all, a king." Robert visibly jumped. "How the hell did you know that?" he asked, moving away from Dr. Furter. "I have my ways." replied the doctor. "Who told you?" Robert demanded. "George or Marc? I'll kill them both." It was at this opportune moment that George and Marc entered the room. Robert turned to them angrily. "Which of you's been talking about me?" he shouted. Both George and Marc looked confused. "Robert, Robert." Dr. Furter chided. "Do calm down. Neither of your friends is to blame." "Well then hoe did you know?" objected Robert. "I told you." replied Frank, a wet red smile splitting his face. "I have my ways." "Look, I don't know what's going on." interrupted George "But we came down for dinner, not an argument." He sat down next to Columbia, who glared at him. He ignored her. Marc took a seat next to Robert and grinned at him. "What's up?" he asked. Robert shrugged, and was about to reply when a loud clattering heralded the entry of Riff Raff and Magenta, pushing a serving trolley. Riff Raff lifted a covered tray from this, and placed it in front of Frank before removing the lid to reveal a large, unpleasant looking lump of meat. Frank lifted a rather peculiar looking carving knife and smiled at everyone. "Well then" he said cheerfully "Who wants the first slice?" There was an unfriendly silence. Eventually Columbia shoved her plate toward Frank. He flicked a small button on the carving knife, and the blade began to whirr around by itself. "Wow!" George said admiringly. "It's a magic knife! Or something." He looked at Frank in confusion. "It works by electricity." Explained the doctor, returning Columbia's plate to her. "Where's Electry City?" George puzzled.  
  
Marc shook his head. "It's not a place, it's a thing." He said. "You use it to make guitars work, I think." "My guitar works fine without any cities." Robert pointed out. "Yeah, but you know those funny shaped guitars that aren't hollow." "Sure. I had loads of them once. Imported from the South. A pretty good invention actually. You plug them into boxes and they go really loud." "Well that's how it works." Marc concluded "With electricity." "Yes, but what is electricity?" interrupted George impatiently. Marc frowned. "I think it's like, a cosmic force or something. But I've never seen anyone who could use it to make a knife move." He looked awed. "Are you a wizard?" "No dear." laughed Frank, taking Robert's plate "It's used for little things like that quite commonly on my planet. How many slices would you like?" "On your planet?" Robert repeated enquiringly, looking smug. Frank realised his mistake too late. Riff Raff, who was standing silently behind his master's chair, sighed and rolled his eyes. Magenta looked extremely annoyed. "Well, it looks as though you've discovered my guilty little secret." Frank patted Robert's hand. "We're aliens from the planet Transsexual, in the galaxy of Transylvania. I'm the leader, Riff Raff is my second and Magenta is his sister. And this house is a space ship." "I see." Robert sighed heavily. "My life just gets more and more ridiculous. I don't think anything would surprise me any more. I expect next it'll turn out that George is my father and Marc's really a goldfish" "I assure you we are in no way related, thank God." George told him. "What made you think of a goldfish?" Marc asked anxiously. "Is there a resemblance?" George interrupted him. "So, is Columbia an alien? She looks like one." "No, she's just a girl. Useful for observation and such." Frank waved a hand dismissively. "So should we be worried about having our brains removed and put in jars, and needles stuck in us and stuff?" asked Robert. "Oh no. We're not conducting experiments on you." Frank returned to serving the meat. "You're guests. That would be terribly rude." He handed Robert a plate of jelly-like flesh and reached for George's plate. George passed it to him reluctantly. Once the food had been served there was a silence while the three men toyed with the blubber-like substance on their plates. Eventually Marc spoke. "So is it a cool planet, this Transsexual?" he asked. At the very sound of the name the eyes of the three aliens lit up. "Ah, sweet Transsexual." sighed Magenta, clutching her hands together in rapture. "Land of Night." "Forever will live the memory of its dark seas." Riff Raff continued. "Its crystalline mountains and satin flowers." He clutched Frank's shoulder in excitement. Frank rose to his feet, his eyes bulging rather scarily. "The blue-black of the sky." He said softly. "The soft grey of the trees." "The scarlet glow of the stars." Magenta rhapsodised. "The blood-black lips of the young." "The moonlit glow of the silver eyes. "The soft underbellies of the ground creatures." "The damp hair and pale flesh." "The white teeth scattered on the stone." "And the music." Magenta gripped Riff Raff's arm ecstatically. "Oh the music!" The three stood together, their eyes wide and moist, pupils dilated. George, Robert and Marc exchanged glances. Robert tapped the side pf his head and nodded at the group. Then he mouthed the words. "Completely mad." There was an awkwardly long silence. "So." prompted George eventually. "The music was quite good was it?" "Oh wonderful, wonderful." Gasped Magenta. "Oh to return to the moon drenched shores of our beloved planet. To sing and dance once more to that dark refrain." "Couldn't you just sing it here?" George suggested. Their eyes turned on him slowly. He moved back nervously. They turned back to each other, and smiled. Then they began to sing.  
  
Sunlight was already showing through the cracks of the horizon when George, Robert and Marc retired to bed. They had spent the night learning an alien dace called "The Timewarp", and entertaining the aliens with their own mucic. George had demonstrated a song called "I'll Tumble 4 Ya", Robert had played "Let's Go to Bed" and Marc gave a raucous rendition of "Get it On". Columbia escorted the three men to bed, leaving the aliens alone. Once the doors of the dining room were closed Magenta turned to Frank. "You told them they could leave." She said, her voice harsh in the silence. Frank smiled. "Do not fear Magenta." He stroked her arm gently, and his voice was sweet. "I'm sure our guests will stay a little while longer. The three aliens exchanged glances. Then all three began to smile.  
  
Chapter 8 - Last night on Earth. George lay in the soft red glow of his room and stretched his entire body, enjoying the feeling of comfortable boredom. He curled up sleepily, and rolled into a ball beneath the sheets. But something was bothering him. He could not sleep, and his eyes were drawn to the bedside table. Eventually he gave up, reached into the drawer and lifted out the box he had been given. He opened it and squinted drunkenly at the contents. Then he glanced toward the door nervously. All was silent. George turned back to the box and smiled. "After all." He thought. "What harm can a little bit do?"  
  
In his room Robert shivered in the cold blue light. In his hands he held the sheet of paper from the ebony box. The rows of printed lips drifted in and out of focus as he stared at them in the dim light. His hands moved rhythmically, folding and refolding the paper. Finally he tore a square from one corner, held it up balanced on his forefinger and stared at it. "After all." He thought. I might as well enjoy myself while I have the chance, mightn't I?"  
  
Marc sat at the dressing table and stared at his reflection, distorted by the liver-spotted mirror and the greenish glow that illuminated the chamber. In front of him, on the dressing table's glass top, he had arranged the white powder into thin lines. Now he stared at them sadly. He turned to the door and listened. Nothing. He turned back to the powder. "After all." He thought. "Who'll know?" 


	7. Part 7

Part Seven  
  
Chapter 1 - The Morning After  
Sunlight glimmered on blue and reflected into George's eyes. He squinted into the glare and his vision gradually became clearer until he realised what he was looking at - the sea.  
Sitting up, he looked around in puzzlement. He was lying on the deck of the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon. The unmanned boat was surrounded by endless waves. Apart from himself the deck was empty.  
George was suddenly filled with fear. What is he was alone in the middle of nowhere. Tears prickled in his eyes. He dragged himself up and struggled toward the cabin. Dizziness overcame him however and he stumbled to the boat side and was miserable sick. Then he sank back into the craft, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Cramps crushed his abdomen and seemed to be spreading to his arms and legs. He was filled still with a dizzy sickness which refused to abate. He gave up and began to cry, wrapping his arms around himself and moaning in pain.  
"George?" called a weak voice from the cabin. "Is that you?"  
"Yeah." George struggled over to the cabin door, pushed it open and squinted inside. He could see nothing in the darkness but the cracks around the window shutters and Robert's white face, his black-painted eyed looking like empty sockets.  
"Robert?" whispered George.  
There was no reply.  
George began to climb with difficulty down the ladder into the cabin. Eventually he reached the floor and crawled across to shake Robert's slumped body. "Robert? Did you call me? Robert, are you awake?"  
Robert lay curled into a ball and made no sign that he heard George call.  
George was considering whether or not to hit Robert with a lantern when a strange croaking noise came from the darkest corner of the room. George jumped and brandished the lantern threateningly. The croaking sound continued, and eventually resolved itself into the word "George?"  
"Marc?" George hurried into the corner and pulled Marc from beneath a table. "You okay?"  
"I guess." Marc leant against the cabin wall and sighed.  
George sat down next to him. "You look terrible."  
"I doubt I look as bad as you." said Marc, rubbing his red eyes.  
"Oh shut up Marc. I look." George broke off as a spasm of pain contorted the let side of his body. ".fine." he finished weakly.  
"Is Robert okay?" Marc croaked, poking the aforementioned gentleman in the ribs. Robert moaned faintly.  
"He'll wake up in a minute." George said, shaking Robert violently.  
Robert opened bloodshot eyes and glared in George's general direction. "What?" he asked crossly.  
"We thought you might be dead." explained George.  
"Are we in the boat again?" Robert asked, as his surroundings suddenly dawned on him. "How come? What's going on?"  
"I have no idea." said Marc hoarsely. "But I feel terrible."  
"What happened to the aliens?"  
"Well whatever's happened we're going to have something to eat." George said determinedly. "I'm absolutely starving."  
"You were only being sick a minute ago." Marc objected. "I heard you."  
"Exactly. So I'm even more empty." George pushed Robert. "Make food. Quick."  
"You could ask a little more politely." Robert grumbled. "I'm not a slave." Nevertheless he took a deep breath, raised himself up slowly and struggled over to the food cupboards, stumbling dramatically from side to side.  
"All right, all right, we'll help." Marc began to light the fire. "Just stop the invalid act." Robert grinned and straightened up.  
Half an hour later the three men sat on deck in the twilight eating rather unpleasant gruel. George's make-up was streaked across his face, and he occasionally grimaced with pain. Marc rubbed his swollen eyes and held himself stiffly, looking rather ill when he moved too quickly. Robert rested his head on his hand and stirred his stew weakly. Eventually he pushed the bowl away listlessly. "This is all your fault Marc." He said, pushing Marc in a pitifully feeble manner. "Why'd you have to bring me those hallucinogens?"  
"Well you're no better giving me opium." objected George.  
"What opium?" Robert puzzled.  
"Don't be pathetic Robert. Just admit it."  
"But I didn't give you anything." Robert began to get annoyed. "Where exactly am I going to get opium from?"  
"Well, where am I going to get hallucogens from?" Marc pointed out.  
"Hallucinogens."  
"Whatever. I still couldn't get any." Marc paused and frowned. "So, does this mean you didn't give me cocaine George?" George looked offended. "Well, if it wasn't me" he asked "Or either of you, who was it?" "That Dr Furter, stupid." snapped Robert. "We should never have trusted those freaks." "I still don't get it." Marc looked confused. "Why would they give us the stuff?" "So they could do experiments on us." Robert shouted in frustration. "Why do I have to hang around with you two brain-dead idiots." "Hey!" George smacked Robert's arm angrily. "You're just as stupid. You trusted them." Robert threw his spoon at George. "Oh grow up." said George, throwing it back. "Hang on." Marc interrupted. "How long were we with the aliens?" "All night, obviously." Robert replied dismissively." "Why obviously?" objected Marc "Well it was night then and its day now, so today is tomorrow." Robert paused. "Actually you raise a good point." He conceded. "I suppose we could've been there longer." "Surely we'd remember?" said George. "Not if they used weird alien technology on us." "Yeah" Marc agreed with wonder. "If they have a carving knife that moves by itself they could have invented anything." "What if they took us to their planet?" Robert asked fearfully. "We could've been gone a thousand years and not aged at all." "Alien abduction? I think you two are losing it." George laughed. "A thousand years. Honestly." He paused and frowned. "Hey, how come I'm being the cynical one? I thought that was your job Robert." "Can anyone remember what actually happened after the drugs?" Marc asked. George and Robert considered. "I think." began George uncertainly "I remember something, but it's hard to describe. You know like when you try and tell someone your dreams, and you can't explain it." "Yeah, I hate listening to you explain your dreams." "Shut up Robert. Anyway, like I was saying."  
  
Chapter 2 - The Night Before  
"I remember a room with lots of metal in it." He frowned. "and a lift shaft too, I think."  
"Yeah, I remember that." Marc agreed. "It was so bright it made your eyes hurt. And the tiles were a funny shade of pink." George nodded his agreement. "Robert? D'you remember it?"  
"Possibly." said Robert. "I remember being cold." He considered. "Really cold. And I was lying down and Dr. Furter had a green doctors robe on."  
"Columbia and Magenta had doctor's masks on." Marc added. "I'm pretty sure."  
"Frank didn't." said George. "I remember him looking down and grinning at me." He shuddered.  
"Did he do experiments on us then?" Marc asked anxiously. "'Cause I don't remember it."  
"Me neither." George agreed. Robert shook his head. "Perhaps" he said quietly "It was too awful to remember." Marc looked even more worried. "This may sound funny." George began uncertainly. "But I'm sure I remember you sort of strutting around playing the guitar on a stage Marc." "Oh yeah." Marc agreed. "It was a gig. There were hundreds of people there." "Really?" George was confused. "I thought it was just an empty room." "Needles." said Robert suddenly. George jumped. "What needles?" ""Frank had a needle, y'know, like a syringe." Explained Robert. "and a rope or something tied round his arm." He paused. "So did you George." George rolled up his sleeve. On his inner arm were seven marks, like pin pricks. George rubbed his fingers across them gently, and looked simultaneously confused and understanding. "Oh yeah." he said quietly. "I forgot." "I remember something else." said Marc. "I remember crying." "Who was crying?" Robert asked. "Everyone. You were screaming and rolling around like a mad man. And you dug your nails into your hands and they bled all over the place." Robert examined his palms carefully. There were many tiny, semi-circular white marks denting his skin. "It was horrible." Marc continued. "You were screaming and kicking the walls, and then you curled up into a ball and kept shivering and moaning." "What about me?" asked George. "When did I cry?" "I don't know when exactly. I just remember you staring at nothing with your eyes all glazed, and your eyelashes were wet." He paused, then added thoughtfully. "It was quite pretty actually. I might write a song about it. But that's all I remember. That and the taste of blood." "Oh yeah, you bit your lip." Robert told him. "And then you used your blood to paint your face." "Robert?" George asked. "Didn't you try and strangle me with your waistcoat?" "Possibly." Robert shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I tried to strangle someone. I wonder what I did that for?" "Do you think we did go to another planet?" asked Marc. "Maybe this is another planet!" George gasped, looking around "How would we know?" "Wouldn't there be three suns, or no oxygen or something?" Robert objected. "Anyway, I thought you didn't believe in alien abduction." "Yeah, well, I was being, y'know, theoretical." explained George hurriedly. "Hey!" Marc interrupted. "Shouldn't we be checking our supplies and stuff. If we've been away for weeks it might've gone off. Or the aliens might've taken it." "Why would the aliens want a bucketful of rotting apples and tonnes of old biscuits?" Robert asked him. George jumped up suddenly, and rather unsteadily. "They'd better not have stolen any of my stuff!" He declared. "I'm gonna check." He hurried into the cabin. Robert and Marc struggled to their feet and followed him.  
  
Later that afternoon the three men sat in the corner of the small cabin writing an inventory of the remaining food. This consisted almost entirely of dry ship's biscuits, corn and rice. There were also three barrels of wine remaining from the six David had given them, and two of water. Besides this there were several loaves of gritty sailors' bread, a dozen extremely old apples, and two geese in a cage. "Well." Robert said as he considered the list. "I hope no-one's too bothered about getting scurvy, 'cause it's definitely on the cards." "We'd better start fishing more often." Said George, taking the list and folding it neatly. "We don't know how much longer we're gonna be at sea. 'specially now we don't know where we are anymore." "We never had any idea where we were. We just knew where we'd been" Marc pointed out, reaching for a biscuit. George removed it from his grasp. "From now on everything is rationed." He explained to the other two. "We don't want to run out now, do we?" "There's no need to be so patronising." Robert assured him. "We can be trusted to only eat what's necessary." "Perhaps you can. Get out of the biscuit barrel Marc." "I only wanted one." Marc complained sulkily. "Anyway, you eat much more than I do. And more than Robert too." "Well not any more." George told him firmly. "From now on we all eat the same." He began to move the barrel into the hold. "We're not gonna let him be in charge of food are we?" Marc protested when George was out of hearing. "It'll be gone in an hour." "I'll keep an eye on him." said Robert. "And don't be so mean. He doesn't eat that much." "Since when have you been against meanness?" objected Marc. "Especially to George." "I'm in a funny mood today." Explained Robert as George returned from the hold. He looked suddenly pale, and in his right hand he held a crumpled piece of silk in bright scarlet and jade, run through with thin golden threads. There were tears in his eyes. "What's wrong?" Marc hurried over to George. "I found it in the corner, behind the goose cage." George said, holding out the limp cloth. "But the necklace is gone." "Oh, your pearls! I forgot." Marc looked around the cabin hopefully. "Maybe they're here somewhere." "Don't be stupid." said Robert. "The aliens have clearly stolen them. Typical." "What d'you mean typical?" George objected. "How often is your jewellery stolen by aliens?" "They'd better not have taken any of my stuff." Marc hurried over to his chest and began to rummage inside. "Well we haven't really got any other valuables." Robert gasped, and his eyes widened. "My locket!" he screamed, running over to search his belongings.  
  
A full search of the boat revealed that nothing was missing other than George's necklace. "From now on I'm going to wear my locket all the time." said Robert as he fastened the chain around his neck and hid it beneath his voluminous jumper. "I'm not risking it being stolen." "I don't see why they had to take my necklace." George was miserable folding and re-folding the piece of silk as he spoke. "Why couldn't they take any of Marc's trashy jewellery or your boring black rubbish?" "Maybe they weren't to the doctor's tastes." Robert suggested. "And my jewellery isn't black rubbish. Some of it's silver and jet and haematite and obsidian and such." "Yeah, and mine's not trash." Marc added. "Some of it's quite valuable." "Really? How valuable?" Robert asked with interest. George sighed, stood up and climbed out of the cabin without saying a word. The door closed firmly behind him. "D'you think he's all right?" asked Marc. "I dunno. That necklace did mean a lot to him. Maybe we should go out and talk to him." Robert opened the cabin door and peered outside. "He looks miserable. "Maybe we should leave it." Marc picked up his guitar. "What are we gonna say anyway?" "Yeah, I guess." Robert closed the cabin door over and climbed carefully back down the ladder, leaving George alone in the gathering dusk.  
  
Chapter 3 - A Night Like This The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon skimmed across the silver water leaving a shining trail to fade into nothing in its wake. On deck the three men sat in the moonlight. Marc was leaning against the side of the cabin with his legs crossed, his guitar resting in his lap. George sat next to him hugging his knees to his chest. They were listening to Robert, who was sitting at the prow strumming his guitar and singing  
"Say goodbye on a night like this  
If it's the last thing you ever do.  
You never looked as lost as this  
Sometimes it doesn't even look like you.  
  
It grows dark  
It grows darker still Please stay But I'm watching, like I'm made of stone As you walk away."  
  
When the song was concluded Robert sighed and stared out to sea. Then he turned to the other two. "Well, what d'you think?" he asked. "I wrote it yesterday." George wiped his eyes. "Why are all your songs so sad Robert?" he asked, as he looked for a handkerchief. "Some of them are quite happy." Robert objected. "What about Lovecats? "I thought that was about drowning kittens." said Marc, frowning. "That's what you said." "No, it was based on a story about.oh, forget it. How about Caterpillar?" "Isn't that about lying to someone to make them stay with you?" "Well, yes." Robert conceded. "Okay then, what about Mint Car?" "Mint Car isn't happy." Marc shook his head. "Mint Car scares me." "Well, if you're just gonna refuse to accept." Robert paused as he noticed George staring out to sea in a melancholy manner. "Although maybe I'd better not sing any more just to be on the safe side, if you're going to look that miserable about it George." "Oh, sorry." George gave him a rather weak smile. "I was just thinking about my necklace." He sighed. "It was all I had to remember.everything by." "Well, at least it was only a necklace." Robert offered as comfort. ""It could've been worse." "Sure. And how would you feel if someone stole your locket?" Robert shrugged and said nothing. "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal." said Marc tonelessly. "But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." "What?" George looked confused. "Well thanks for that useless platitude." said Robert coldly. "Where'd you read it? Inside a cracker?" "No. In a holy book actually." Marc told him smugly. "Sounds like the stuff they put in holy books back East." George agreed. "And they're all much the same really. Are you not religious Robert?" "Well.I was head of the Church of Vanaheim, and the link between man and the gods. But other than that, no." "Me neither." George said. "Although I used to like hearing some of the myths and stuff. But I'm not gonna actually believe them. Please." He rolled his eyes and looked amused by the naivety of those who did. "Yeah, our stories were stupid too." Robert admitted. "All battles and monsters and stuff. All the people of Vanaheim are interested in is war, war, war. I mean, as if I'm gonna take part in some great end-of-the-world style battle with a load of evil demons and giants and dragons and whatever. I don't care how many gods and deceased ancestors I have on my side. There's no way." "What use would dead relatives be?" Marc puzzled. "I meant their spirits, obviously. Not their corpses." He paused. "At least, I assume so. All they said was that they'd rise again. There were no specifics." Marc looked nervous. "So.are you going to rise from the dead then?" "Well, it's not due until the end of the world, so you'll probably have plenty of other things to worry about." Robert said, not very comfortingly. "Are you religious then Marc?" George asked. "If you know hold verses by heart." "Oh no." Marc shook his head. "I just picked that up somewhere. It's not even from my religion. It's from one of the newer ones." He waved his hand dismissively. "What does your religion say then?" "I dunno. I never really paid that much attention." "Lucky. Our religion was forced down our throats at school. It was the most important lesson, except for Calligraphy, and Family Values." George looked miserable at the mere memory of his schooldays. "Yeah, I got a lot of it from my tutor." Robert said, frowning. "But that was 'cause of the whole "leader of the faith" thing." "If I were you I'd have just abolished it." Marc said. "I'm not sure I was allowed." "Of course you were. You were a king. They can do what they like." "That's not quite how it works Marc." "You're amazingly ignorant sometimes." George told Marc, rather impolitely. "Did you not pay any attention when you were at court back in wherever it is you come from." "Well..I.er..I wasn't at court very often." Marc said hurriedly, looking uneasy. Not that often. In fact, not very often at all." Robert had been absently strumming his guitar for the last minute or so. Now he stopped and asked, "Whose turn is it to play now?" "Mine." said Marc, before the conversation could be taken any further. "I think I'll play you a song I wrote while I was still living in the South. It's about the end of a relationship." George hugged his knees tightly and Robert rested his head in his hands as Marc began to sing.  
  
"I could have loved you girl  
  
Like a planet  
  
I could have chained your heart  
  
To a star  
But it really doesn't matter at all  
  
No it really doesn't matter at all  
  
Life's a gas,  
  
I could have built a house  
  
On the ocean  
  
I could have placed your love  
  
In the sky  
  
But it really doesn't matter at all  
  
No it really doesn't matter at all  
  
Life's a gas,  
  
I could have turned you  
  
Into a priestess  
  
I could have burned  
  
Your fate in the sand  
But it really doesn't matter at all  
  
No it really doesn't matter at all  
  
Life's a gas,  
  
I hope it's gonna last."  
  
It was silent for a while. George lay staring at the stars. Robert turned his locket over and over in his hands. Marc rested his head on his guitar and sighed. Eventually George said quietly. "What are the stars? I mean, what are they made of?" "They're bits of ice shattered by the gods." Robert said. "Or so it was said in Vanaheim." "No, they're lamps God hung in the sky for us to see by." said Marc. "Or else it's where the sky's been torn, and the light of heaven's shining through." "In the East." George said softly. "They used to say they were decorations by the gods, and fireworks were man's attempts to copy them." "What's fireworks?" Marc asked. "What kind of deprived childhood did you have, not knowing about fireworks?" "Well I've never heard of them either." Robert informed him. "I don't think they have them in the North." "They're beautiful." George told him. "They're like tubes full of gunpowder and stuff, and you light them and they fly into the air and explode." "I think you'll find they're called bombs." "No Robert, you don't understand." Said George excitedly. "They're only little, and when they explode them turn into hundreds of tiny stars and fall down onto the audience." He demonstrated this with enthusiastic gesturing. "Do they burn?" Marc asked anxiously. "No, 'course not." George laughed. "They don't actually ever reach the ground. They disappear." "Oh good." Marc looked pleased. "That's okay then. In that case seeing fireworks is the thing I'd like to do most in the world, after meeting elves." "I wish I had some. You'd love them. They're wonderful. They're like pictures in the sky, all different colours, and they're shaped sort of like trees and flowers. Some of them are little and like weeping willows, and some of them are big and round like chrysanthemums." "I wish I'd seen a chrysanthemum." Marc said mournfully. "I wish I could show you one." George told him. There was a moment's pause and then George's face lit up and he leapt to his feet and dashed into the cabin. "Where's he rushing off to?" asked Robert, who had been quietly staring out to sea and half listening to the conversation. Marc shrugged. George returned from the cabin bearing a dark, heavy, rectangular object which he lowered carefully to the deck. It was revealed to be a thick, leather-bound book.  
"I forgot I had this." He said, opening it gently. "It's a sort of fairytale, romancey thing. They were very popular in the East. Its got really good illustrations.  
Marc crawled over to George, who was already turning the thin pages with great care. Robert joined them, bringing an extra lamp.  
"That's a chrysanthemum, that the girl's holding." George explained as he lifted the tissue-thin paper covering the illustration. "and that's a kimono like I used to wear. And that's a sunshade, and they're fireworks behind her, although they're much better in real life." He lifted the pages excitedly, telling the story as they went along (since the other two couldn't read the strange characters), explaining what they saw and interrupting himself to tell them short, related stories from his own life and those of his friends and acquaintances. Marc listened with awe, occasionally touching one of the prints gently. Robert asked many questions, mainly concerning the culture and traditions.  
The story George read was a tragedy about a young girl who went on a quest for the soul of her lover, which had been stolen by a fox-demon. The demon had tricked the young man by appearing in the body of a young girl. It was rather strange and complicated, but George helped to clarify the more difficult parts. It ended with the girl winning the soul after many hardships and sacrifices, and returning home to find that in the years of her absence her lover had married another girl. Marc found this very sad, despite his own propensity to fall in and out of love with someone in a fortnight. Robert claimed to dislike the girl because when she found out about her lover's marriage she committed suicide, which he considered "weak" (although he looked slightly tearful when George read the part about her sinking into the river and being carried away). However, she redeemed herself in his eyes by becoming a fox demon herself, seducing her ex-fiancé and then destroying his life via bankruptcy, loss of loved ones and a selection of highly unpleasant diseases and embarrassing medical conditions.  
So engrossed were the three men that they didn't notice the approaching landmass until it was within a few miles. Robert saw it first and actually shrieked in excitement, after which he looked a bit embarrassed.  
"Quick!" screamed George, running to and fro across deck in his panic (which was, incidentally, not in the slightest bit helpful). "Turn around. Set a course for the land. Quick! Well sail past! We'll lose it."  
The others tried to point out how unlikely it was that they would lose an entire country, but George would not be calmed until they were sailing along the coastline, as near as they could get to the shore without risking damage to the boat. All that could be seen was a huge, flat, featureless cliff face which seemed to run all the way around the island, and hundreds of sharp rocks around which the sea foamed ominously.  
This lack of a suitable landing point was most discouraging. In fact they were beginning to give up hope, and the excitement of having found land was already wearing thin, when George spotted a small lagoon into which a river flowed. "There!" he screamed urgently. "Turn to port! Starboard! Whichever is left! Turn!" Robert and Marc struggled with the boat and managed to steer it into the lagoon, where it floated softly across the mirror-like surface.  
"How dramatic." said Marc. "Arriving on a mystery island from across the sea by moonlight. It's like a book. Shame there's no one here to see us."  
"Where should we go?" George puzzled, looking around. "I can't see a way through the cliffs."  
"Up the river, stupid." gasped Robert, who was still trying to catch his breath after the exertion required in getting the boat this far. "And stop jumping around. It's incredibly annoying."  
"And so the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon carried them up the silvery path of the river, between high banks covered in strange flowers and plants, twisting toward the centre of this new land.  
  
Chapter 4 - The Green Grass of Home Trees hung over the high-banked river forming a translucent green tunnel through which they sailed slowly. The rising sun soaked the boat in the viridian light. George leant across to the bank and picked flowers as they briefly passed within his reach. Marc hung as near to the water as he could, watching the fish flickering past. Robert sat at the prow, following the twists and turns of the river.  
George's arms were eventually full, and he sat in the centre of the deck weaving the new, foreign flowers into his hair. When he tired of this he decorated Marc's hair instead. By the time Robert had found a spot where the bank was low enough for them to land, all three men wore chains of flowers around their necks, arms, wrists, waists and ankles, as well as crowns made of especially beautiful blooms. This gave them the appearance of an especially eclectic group of shrubs disembarking from a bottle-green craft.  
They found themselves in a field of waist-high, silvery-green grass dotted here and there with flowers which looked something like daisies, a little like buttercups, and bore a certain resemblance to pinks. At the edges of this meadow were huge trees, many of them covered in blossom. The river emerged briefly from within these trees, and then disappeared again into their depth. The only sound was the light breeze which made the grasses whisper softly. There was an air of everything having been newly made, as though nothing had ever set foot here.  
George, Robert and Marc stood uncertainly on the riverbank. "What should we do now?" George asked, hesitant to speak in such a quiet place.  
Marc grinned, grabbed George's hat and ran off through the grass, laughing. George followed, shrieking in feigned indignation at this theft. Robert, left alone, stood awkwardly at the riverbank shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably. After a while he sighed and sat down on a conveniently horizontal section of tree, feeling somewhat left out. The sound of screams and laughter reached him, but George and Marc were hidden from him by the long grass. Their voices sounded strange and distant, freer then they had ever been before in the confines of their cottage or the boat. Robert leant against a tree and closed his eyes.  
He was dozing miserably when footsteps approached him rapidly. He ignored them until he was suddenly hit around the face with George's hat, which naturally woke him up. He opened his eyes grumpily. Marc was standing in front of him holding the hat by the brim and grinning broadly. George's voice could be heard in the distance, faintly calling "Marc? Marc! Come here! Hiding isn't fair!"  
"What?" Robert asked, in the sort of voice grown-ups use when children are bothering them.  
"Come and help me creep up on George." Marc whispered conspiratorially. "He can't find me. It's really funny."  
"You are so immature." He closed his eyes again. "And don't hit me."  
"Why? What're you gonna do?" Marc hit Robert again and grinned even more broadly.  
"Stop it!" Robert tried to grab the hat and missed. Marc backed away, laughing, and waved the hat teasingly in front of Robert, who again tried unsuccessfully to reach it.  
"Fine." He said sulkily. "Just go away and leave me alone then."  
Marc shrugged, turned around and began to walk back to George. Robert half-closed his eyes, and waited until Marc was off his guard before jumping for the hat. Marc screamed, hit him again and ran out of the trees and almost into George. Dodging him he disappeared into some particularly tall grasses which rose above his head and confused both his pursuers somewhat. They followed, calling out ridiculous threats between their laughter.  
  
By the time the sun had reached the middle of the sky the three of them had collapsed, exhausted. George lay on his back watching the white clouds floating slowly across the sky. Robert was in the shade, lying on his stomach to examine what they had christened a "star-flower". Marc sat cross- legged, the hat perched proudly on his head, chewing a piece of grass and dreaming.  
Robert looked up and shaded his eyes. "Too much light." He said regretfully. "My eyes are hurting."  
"Shall we go back to the boat?" George asked.  
"Yeah, lets." said Robert. But no one moved. Robert closed his eyes.  
After a few minutes more Marc removed the piece of grass from his mouth. "It's nice here, isn't it?"  
"Yeah." Said George lazily.  
"And we all like it."  
"Yeah."  
"And there's nowhere else for us to go."  
"Yeah." said George again, impatiently.  
"So." Marc asked hopefully. "Can we stay?"  
"Yeah." said George, smiling. "We can stay."  
"Robert?" Marc said carefully.  
"Yeah?"  
"What do you think of it?"  
Robert considered in silence. Marc waited nervously. Finally Robert spoke. "I think." he said slowly. "I think that we're home.  
  
End of Part 7. To be Continued.  
  
. 


End file.
